


Broken Wings

by smoviescenes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholic Dean Winchester, Angels, Case Fic, Castiel Can Hear Longing, Chick-Flick Moments, Dead Castiel, Dean Being an Idiot, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Demons, Depressed Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Gabriel Ships It, Heaven, Hell, King of Hell, Multi, Prayer, SO, Sam Ships It, Soul Bond, Souls, Supernatural - Freeform, Temporary Character Death, There Are Monsters, because cas is dead, but it's supernatural, idk - Freeform, not really - Freeform, of course he does, um, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-03 22:30:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11541750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoviescenes/pseuds/smoviescenes
Summary: Where do angels go when they die?Heaven?Angels don't have souls, right? So where do they go when they die?Castiel is dead, he knows that much. He remembers the demon and Dean's devastated face, but not much more. The question now is: how is he going to get back?-Cas is dead, Dean is trying his damn hardest not to fall apart, Sam is a supportive little brother and everything is a bit messed up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So at first this fic was named "Broken Wings", but I figured that since I've been having a song-lyric-theme with all my fics' names, I couldn't just break that... Spread your wings is a Queen song, and they sing about a character called Sam, and you should listen to it because it is amazing.
> 
> And just now I googled and found a song called Broken Wings, and the lyrics are really great so I'm just gonna go ahead and rename the fic again: so now it is called Broken Wings.  
> *woops*, having a hard time making up my mind over here. Sorry.
> 
> ANYWAYS, I was planning on posting this when it was completely finished, but now I can't wait anymore and I need to hear what you think about it, so here ya go. Hope you like it!
> 
> AND if there's any confusion. this takes place about a year or so after the trials. SPN is canon up until the end of season 8, where Metatron is killed and Sam doesn't go all comatose. 
> 
> Btw, this is my first non-au-sort-of-canon-until-season-8-fic so I've never tried making the characters similar to the ones in the show -- so I have no idea how this turned out. But. Oh well. Hopefully they resemble the "real" characters in some ways.

_”Where do angels go when they die?”_

Castiel can’t breathe. There is no oxygen where he is now. No lifeless molecules sticking together through an act of fate, creation, magnetism, or perhaps sheer stubbornness. The room is not empty, but there is no one in it, and Castiel still can’t make his lungs take a single breath.

He doesn’t need air. This body, this _vessel_ , that is no longer Jimmy Novak but a part of him now, does not require oxygen. The fear leaves his mind blank and he gets to his feet, only to realize that he has been standing up the entire time.

Voices may be calling, but they are not calling his name. Not anymore. 

_”Heaven?”_

Yes, this is heaven. Castiel can taste it in the emptiness of the air around him, in the place where nothing really exists, yet it feels like the most real place there is. Like coming home, familiarity sweeps him up and lets him sink into its deep void. He feels safe here. Content. Dull grey walls blend into never-ending corridors that anyone else would get lost in. Castiel knows the way. 

He knows the way, and he would like to go there, but something is pulling at him. Like a tug at his core, not his heart because a heart is a weak thing. No, it is pulling at something else, some small, ruined part of him that he didn’t even know existed. 

His soul. He can feel it there, now that he knows how to look for it. 

_”Angels don’t have souls, right? So where do they go when they die?”_

Angels are immortal beings, powered by grace and heaven and God, and they do not have souls. 

But there it is. Fluttering under the base of his sternum. It is his own soul, he is sure of it. The sensation is so different from when all the souls of purgatory exploded inside him and left nothing but an empty shell for the leviathans to use. A vessel. 

They defeated the leviathans, that much he can remember. Him and- and green eyes and warm smiles and another and much better version of coming home. 

_”Where do angels go when they die?”_

Castiel pushes the question away for later. He is not dead. 

Or is he?

He is an angel, and angels are immortal. Angels don’t have fluttering souls in their chests that scream about free will and human emotions. 

But he has a soul. 

There is another memory, one of the Scribe’s cold hand as he healed the cut on Castiel’s throat. One where every last piece of Castiel’s grace was ripped away from him, like pulling a band-aid off raw flesh and watching the muscles fall apart at the seams. 

He lost his grace, but gained something else: humanity. And, he realizes with a start, with humanity comes the most pure and beautiful thing that God ever created - a human soul. 

Castiel has a soul, and it is fighting whatever grace is left inside him in a never-ending battle. 

Again he is choking on the vast emptiness around him, before he can once again remember that he is an angel of the lord. Angels do not need to breathe. And if he is human, well…

If he is human, that would mean that he is dead. Maybe that is for the best. Maybe this is how he will spend eternity, trapped in a looming corridor with grey walls and bricks and a room with a door that he can’t reach. 

Maybe it is alright.

 

∞

 

When Dean leaves the bunker for the first time in two weeks, Sam tells him that it is a good thing. That he is _coping_. 

Dean is most certainly _not_ coping, because he is going to bring Cas back. No need to try to get over his - whatever he is - death when he is going to be back in the bunker before Sam cuts his hair (it’s gotten to the point where his brother uses a hair tie to get it out of his face, and seriously? Dean has threatened to cut it in his sleep).

They are going on a hunt, a ghost gone rogue, and Sam thinks that Dean is finally starting to get out of that shell that he’s been in for the last fourteen days. 

The thing is, Dean is not doing very well. Not at all. He’s been drinking himself into oblivion and only after tearing his room apart did he come to a realization:

Sam has died.

Dean has died, multiple times. 

Cas has died a few times too, actually. 

The only thing he knows is that they have all made it back, with the help of angels and demons and God and whoever, whatever was the best option at the time. 

Dean is going to bring Cas back. And damn it, he doesn’t care what it takes. Not when- 

 

 

_Fifteen days earlier_

”It’s just a stupid cut. Cas, I’m fine, really-”

”You are not _fine_ , Dean, you are bleeding. Let me heal you.”

”Really, it’s nothing-”

Cas bluntly grabs the hem of Dean’s t-shirt and pulls it up, revealing a stab wound that has crippled Dean for the past two days. He and Sam were attacked by a demon with an angel blade, out of all things, and when the black-eyed sonofabitch had gone for Sam, Dean had done what any big brother would - he had stepped in between and taken the hit. At the moment, Sam is getting takeout and pie on his own, after he stubbornly refused to let Dean come along (”You need to _rest_ , Dean”).

Dean had planned to rest, really, but then he had overheard about a murder in a park nearby on the police radio. Since Sam had taken the Impala, he surprised himself by walking there, suited up and all. 

Unfortunately, he only got as far as to the edge of the park when his suit started to feel too tight and too hot, and he had to lean heavily against a tree as he unbuttoned the damn suit jacket and shirt. 

This is how he stood when Cas decided to drop by a few minutes ago. In a white t-shirt and dress pants, sweating against a tree trunk in the middle of August. 

”Okay, maybe the wound opened up again. It’s nothing,” Dean mutters and tries to pull his shirt down again. With the way the angel is observing him, he’s starting to feel a little light-headed. 

”Dean.” Maybe it is the way his voice drops an octave, maybe it is the way he tilts his head and squints his eyes, but Dean can’t resist him. He lets go of the fabric in his hands and lets Cas pull it up to get a proper look. 

It’s a clean wound, as always with angel blades, and Sam managed to convince Dean to let him stitch it up. As he glances at it now, he can see that he has pulled a few stitches. The cause of the bleeding, of course. 

”What happened?” Cas enquires as he prods a little at the skin next to the wound. Some more blood oozes out and Dean quickly looks away. 

”Demon. It disappeared before we could gank it, I’m on my way to a second murder now. Hopefully it’ll give us something to go on.”

”This-” He falls quiet and squints again, giving Dean a questioning look. ”This was made by an angel blade.”

”Yeah, the sucker had one. Are you gonna fix me up or not?”

”Of course,” is Cas’s answer, and he places his open palm against the ruined skin. Dean closes his eyes and waits for the cold numbness to spread through his stomach, surprised by how long it takes. He opens his eyes just in time to catch Cas’s collapsing body and guide him to the ground. 

”Cas? You alright?”

”I’m- weaker than I thought. I apologize. At least you are fully healed now.”

Dean puts a hand against his wound and feels nothing but smooth skin.

”Damn it, Cas, you shouldn’t have done that.”

”It is done. I-” 

He suddenly opens his eyes wide, and Dean winces when he sees the pain in them. Through the pain there is something else, though, a sort of determination that only comes out when Cas is preparing for a fight. 

”What? What is it?” Dean exclaims and quickly searches the area around them. He can hear a soft rustle in the trees, a breeze, nothing else. 

”There is a demon nearby. I can feel it. But there’s something- It’s- it’s very powerful. You should run. _Run._ ”

”Fuck no, I ain’t gonna leave you here.” He pulls out his own angel blade, the one he took from Zachariah all those years ago, and feels the solid weight of it in his hand. After his gun, it is his favorite weapon.

Cas struggles to get to his feet, supports himself on the tree and with a flick of his wrist he has an angel blade in his hand as well. 

”It’s close.” 

”Hiding in the trees now, are we?” Dean calls out, bored by this game already. A shudder passes through the trees, and suddenly a woman steps out in front of them. She is wearing a uniform, one Dean vaguely recognizes from the army (marines), and if it weren’t for the black eyes she would have been pretty. Curly, red-brown hair pulled back in a braid. For a moment, Dean wonders what it would feel like to run his hands through that hair. As the thought passes his mind, he can feel Cas’s heavy eyes on the back of his head. He shoots him a quick look, but the blue eyes are watching the demon. 

”Dean Winchester. I see you have been patched up since our last encounter.” Dean groans as he realizes that this is the same demon that he and Sam were up against, the one that stabbed him in the chest. He clears his throat and smirks, ”I choose my friends carefully.” His fingers twirl the blade and she casts a glance towards it. ”And you’re not the only one who has one of these.” 

”Please, you think you can get close enough to use that on me? I could hop into that pretty little meat suit of yours and tear your insides apart.”

”So why haven’t you?” Dean teases, seeing the moment she spots his anti-possession tattoo through his shirt. ”Now that that’s out of the question, you mind telling me what your game is? You’re leaving a fucking trail of bodies behind you.”

”The question you should be asking, Dean Winchester, is why not? I’m bored.” 

She starts pacing, back and forth in a semi-circle that draws closer and closer. Dean is not overly concerned by Cas’s weakened state, since he has proved more than once that he can take care of himself. 

_I’ll fake an attack and you take her down_ , he thinks, knowing that Cas is listening. Just as he grips the blade tighter and digs his foot into the ground to lunge forwards, Cas yells out a soft _”Don’t”_ , but it’s too late to stop. His momentum drives him straight towards the demon, who does the one thing he wasn’t expecting: she steps around him and goes for Cas instead. Dean stumbles to the ground and watches in horror as the demon and the angel fight, delivering punches and cuts with the blades. Cas has the better technique, but he lacks in strength and it shows. In panic Dean scrambles to his feet and makes a run for the demon, blade first. Just before he can reach them, she kicks Cas’s angel blade out of his hand, turns around and dodges Dean’s hit easily, knocking his blade away as well. As he searches for where it landed, Dean can see through the corner of his eye how she basically tosses Cas against a tree and pins him there. 

Blue eyes meet green, and they both know that this is it. Dean is a full five yards away, and the demon raises her angel blade. 

_NO_

Cas doesn’t look at the attacking demon, the impending doom. He looks at Dean, face bloody and bruised. 

_Don’t you dare leave me, Cas!_ _I love you._ _I need you._

Dean has to cover his eyes when light suddenly blinds him. He can’t see and he can’t breathe and he can’t hear and it’s all too much and _fuck_ , he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone-

_CAS_

In a white-hot rage he closes the distance between them and watches in horror as Castiel slumps to the ground, angel blade sticking out from his chest. The demon is still there though, so Dean pulls the blade out of his best friend’s body, refusing to look at the gaping hole left in Cas’s skin, and he stabs the unprepared demon straight through the chest. Red flashes underneath her bones, and she falls motionlessly. 

Dean’s harsh breaths are the only sounds echoing around the trees. He turns around stiffly, knowing what he will see but still it punches a hole in his gut that has him doubling over. 

Cas’s unmoving body rests on the ground, two magnificent wings spread out around him. Dean wonders what they would look like if Cas ever showed him. 

”Cas?” he calls out, brokenly. Slowly he kneels next to his friend and takes his head in his hands, hating how it lolls heavily against his weak fingers. He pulls Cas’s torso into his lap and buries his face against his neck, pressing closer than he ever dared to before. 

Sam finds him in that position hours later, when the shadow of Cas’s wings has already started to fade.

 

 

_Now_

”So a couple move into a house where a man was choked to death 20 years ago in his bed. First night they sleep there, the husband dies. The wife didn’t even wake up.”

Dean wonders where angels go when they die. When he and Cas were in purgatory, Cas was the only angel there. During his time in hell, he never met any angels. The guys sort of run heaven though, so that would probably be the most logical place. Right?

”Dean?”

He wonders where Cas is. What he is doing. If he is doing anything at all. He thinks of Benny’s question about where the monsters that they killed in purgatory went. Hell?

”Dean!” 

Dean blinks hard and looks at his brother - his fuming, annoyed/worried brother with his clenched jaw and flared nostrils.

”What?”

”Have you been listening to anything I’ve said?” 

Dean rolls his eyes and waves absently in Sam’s direction. ”A guy died in his sleep in a haunted house. Let’s go burn some fucking bones.”

”Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asks in that _I’m-your-little-brother-but-I-still-know-best_ -voice, and Dean would very much like to punch him.

Instead, he takes a deep breath. Talk about a development of his personality.

”It’s a ghost, Sammy-boy. I’m good.” 

Sam holds his gaze for a few more moments before he finally gives in. Either Dean’s lie is convincing, or he’s just postponing the discussion. 

Probably the latter. 

When Dean parks the Impala (she’s in desperate need of some TLC, but that will have to wait until they get back to the bunker), he doesn’t immediately get out. Sam has already opened the door and is pulling his abnormally long legs out, and Dean is suddenly struggling to breathe. 

_Shit_.

Cas is dead. The shadows of his broken wings had been impossibly black, making him look so small and fragile in his crumpled form on the ground. Ever since the first time Dean saw a dead angel he swore to himself that he would never let that happen to Cas, and now-

Now his body is rotting in a wooden box six feet underground. 

”Jesus christ, _Dean_ ,” Sam damn near yells, shaking his shoulders almost violently. Dean straightens up and swats Sam’s hands away, putting on that famous Winchester-frown to keep himself from throwing up.

”I’m fine,” he growls as he gets out of the car. 

”No you’re not,” Sam protests, and now Dean turns on him.

”No, guess what? I’m not. I’m not fucking _fine_ , I’m not _okay_ , but I’m trying, Sammy. I really am. Just let me do my job, please.” 

He hates begging, he has always hated it. He hated begging John to let them stay in town for just a few more days because Sam had found a friend. He hated begging the teachers to at least give him an E on the essay, because god knows what his father would do to him otherwise. 

Sam just gives him a sad look but nods and lets him lead the way into the police station. 

”Agents May and Taylor, we’re here for the D’Andrea case?” Sam says smoothly, his voice dropping a few octaves as he introduces them. Every day, Dean is shocked by seeing him all grown up, his little brother now taller than him and with a bit of a stubble on his cheeks. He shakes his head fondly and shoots a look around the station. There is only one officer visible, besides the one who just ran off to get the sheriff. Dean nudges Sam’s arm and gestures at all the empty seats.

”Busy day?” he mumbles.

”They are probably on that same police conference-thing that Jody mentioned. The entire state was invited.” 

”Right.” Dean totally forgot about that. When did they talk to Jody? Was it yesterday? Or the day before? It’s gotten more difficult to keep track of the days. Especially when he spends most of them nursing a whiskey bottle. 

”Agents, I’m Sheriff Andrews.” The short man shakes both of their hands, his beard bobbing a little as he nods. ”I’m afraid you’ve come all this way for nothing, we’ve already closed the case.” 

”Excuse me, what?” Sam asks, sticking his chin out a little in that way he does when he’s confused. 

”Well, it’s perfectly clear that the wife did it. All the doors to the house were locked, and she was in the same room, so-”

”Give us the files and reopen the case,” Dean interrupts, already holding his hand out for the file. The Sheriff raises one eyebrow at him, and oh, Dean can just see how he’s about to bring out everything he’s got to fight them on this. 

So Dean does the one thing that somehow always works with people who are shorter than him (which is most people, to be honest, little brothers not included) - he grabs a handful of the guy’s shirt and pulls him closer, close enough that he has to crane his neck back and look up at Dean less than a foot apart.

”Sheriff?” Dean growls, tugging at the shirt again. ”Give us the files, and reopen the case. It is in the hands of the FBI now.” The Sheriff nods desperately and after one last, menacing look, Dean lets go of him. He nearly stumbles to the floor, but regains his footing and scurries to the file cabinet. 

Dean turns to Sam with a triumphant grin, that even Sam’s scowl can’t break.

”Pretty good, huh?” he asks, clicking his tongue twice with a smile. Sam just frowns and does the famous eye-roll, that Dean laughs away.

Once the sheriff returns, however, Sam turns on the bad-cop-mode as well.

”I’m going to need to talk to Mrs. D’Andrea,” he requires, getting a ”yes of course” in response. 

”I’ll do some research on that first guy that died, meet you back at the motel? The one that we passed with a volcano outside? It looked awesome,” Dean suggests, in a low voice to keep the sheriff out of hearing range. Sam rolls his eyes once again but agrees, and they split up. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry, I haven't updated! I've been abroad (Ireland, for 10 days, and it was awesome and everyone should go there). But now I'm back and I'll be updating more frequently!

Castiel is in the bunker. He wandered the halls and stumbled upon the map room, and was surprised that he hadn’t recognized the place sooner. It does bring up an interesting question, though - is this _his_ heaven? The bunker? Is it really-

The library is still stocked with books, so Castiel starts searching for the grey, thick nameless book that is signed by S.E. Ralph (an alias, of course, the author was a young woman called Sarah who lived in the 1600’s and was possessed by Castiel for almost a year). He finds it where he left it, right in the middle of the third shelf next to the book about Alphas. 

Dean and Sam have probably never found the book, the lack of a title and proper introduction enough for them to skip it during their searches. Castiel wishes that he could talk to them. Sam would know what to do. Dean would-

_”Is there a special part of heaven designated for angels? Where they can chat with God and laugh at all the stupid humans?”_

There is a smile on his lips, barely-there and invisible because there is no one there to see it. But he still keeps smiling. Because he can still hear the angel-radio, somehow, he can still tune into that void of grace and static that carries their thoughts and prayers. And by now he has figured out who is praying to him. 

He returns to the book, mind split between listening for prayers and skimming the pages for whatever it is that he is searching for (he can’t remember but it doesn’t really matter). There are stunning depictions of wings, halos, grace, heavenly weapons, all those things that Castiel shouldn’t have showed Sarah but did anyways. Maybe because she was curios, maybe because he felt lonely. Maybe it shouldn’t matter anymore, since she has been dead for 400 years, but Castiel remembers her so clearly. The second he had left her body she had picked up a piece of paper and something to write with and started sketching his wings. 

He traces his fingers across the image now. White and unharmed feathers stretch out from _his_ back, because these are _his_ wings. At least how they looked before hell, before fire and battle turned them into charcoal. And then he lost his grace and-

It doesn’t matter (well, it sort of does, but he can’t waste time thinking about _that_ now). 

 

_Six months earlier_

Dean had called him, asking him if he could help out with a case near Columbus, Ohio. Since Sam was still recovering from the trials, Dean had apparently refused to bring him along (”He’ll just sleep in the motel until we’re going back again. Come on, Cas, help me out?”).

And Castiel couldn’t refuse, not this time, not ever. Not when Dean needed his help and their friendship was on the mend for once. Castiel had told him about Metatron, about losing his grace and regaining it (he killed Metatron for it, regretfully, but it had been too little and too late), he had told him that it was his fault that the angels had fallen from heaven. 

Dean had done something quite uncharacteristic of him - he had pulled him into a hug and gripped the back of his trenchcoat and knocked their heads together. Then he’d said, ”Do you think I care about any of that? I thought I’d never see you again.” (which had rendered Castiel speechless and left him standing stiffly with Dean’s arms around him, wondering what he could possibly say in response). 

So here he is, on a bus heading for Columbus, because somehow he had ended up in Chicago while Dean and Sam went to the bunker. 

He still isn’t sure if they will let him stay with them. It would make things a whole lot easier, especially now that- now that he is hungry and tired and his credit card (one of Dean’s fake ones) has expired. Losing his grace and fighting Metatron has taken its toll on him. 

The bus stops and Castiel gets off, finding himself in the middle of a sea of people who all know where they are going. 

Dean said to meet him at Macy’s Tasty Burgers, but he has no idea where to find it. Abruptly he grabs the arm of a man who walks past him, and asks for directions. The man just gives him a frightened look and tugs his arm away. He tries it a few more times until a woman tells him to go to the reception inside the bus station. He thanks her and locates the quite large sign that reads ”Reception”, manned by a girl who can’t be more than sixteen. She looks tired. There are dark rings under her eyes and Castiel can’t help but wonder if she shouldn’t be at school-

He stops dead in his tracks. The amount of worry that he feels for her is stronger than anything he has ever felt before. This has been happening quite a lot lately (strong senses of joy, anger, sympathy, all human emotions), but he hasn’t realized why until now. 

Metatron took his grace. And even though it’s back (most of it; unfortunately not completely intact), that human part of him has lingered. He isn’t quite an angel, not anymore, but he isn’t a human either. His entire existence lingers somewhere between the two beings. 

The girl in the reception tells him to go out the main entrance, turn left and walk until he sees the restaurant. He thanks her and gives her his last dollar bill - a gesture he’s seen Dean do multiple times with kids who look like they just need a break. 

Dean waits for him with a smile and two burgers on the table. 

”I ordered for you, thought you’d be here sooner,” he says, taking a sinfully large bite out of his half-eaten burger. The noise that follows isn’t exactly something one would normally accept in a restaurant. ”This is the best burger I’ve ever tasted,” he moans, which pulls a little at the corner of Castiel’s lips. He takes a seat and considers whether to start with the burger or the fries. Cold fries are usually a little soggy, and the burger-

”Shit, I forgot. Just leave it. I’ll eat yours too,” Dean mumbles with his mouth full, and only then does Castiel realize that Dean doesn’t know. 

Well, he _knows_ , but he doesn’t _understand_. He doesn’t _understand_ what losing your grace means, because he isn’t an angel. Sometimes Castiel has to remind himself of the gap of knowledge between them. 

”It’s fine,” Castiel says, and picks up the burger. Dean watches him as he takes a bite, but then he is so lost in the glorious taste that he doesn’t immediately notice how Dean lowers his burger and wipes his hands on a few napkins.

”Cas?” he asks, voice sombre but still mostly confused. 

”Mm?”

”Where have you been? Why didn’t you zap to the car while I drove here? I figured, when I called, that you sort of heard the urgency.” 

”I’ve been in Chicago. There is a very nice bench by the lake, the view is extraordinary.” 

Dean chuckles softly, his thoughts screaming all kinds of suggestive things at Castiel’s mind (most of the time Castiel shuts his thoughts out, but on occasions like this, when they are excessively loud and unusually sweet, he just can’t make himself do it). Castiel has always wondered why Dean does not act on his impulses more often. There are so many thoughts, so many things that he _wants_ , but he stubbornly refuses to say them out loud. It makes Castiel doubt whether the thoughts are genuine or not (and it is the reason why he has not asked him about it). 

”So you were late because of the view? Damn it, Cas, we could have gone over the case by now-”

Castiel doesn’t know how to say it, and Dean doesn’t know what questions to ask. But there is something gnawing inside him, call it irritation, pain, anger, all of the above. The worst part, though, is probably Dean’s _ignorance_.

”-if you’d just popped in a little earlier-” 

”My wings are broken, Dean.” He says it softly, sadly, his head hanging forwards just a little and the burger discarded on the plate. 

”Oh.” When Castiel looks up, Dean is absently scratching the back of his neck, then he adds, ”So you don’t have any juice left? I mean, Chicago to Lawrence, that’s not very far.” 

”My wings are _broken_. Do you have any _idea what that means_?” Castiel hisses, all traces of kindness and patience gone. Dean actually gulps a little, because Castiel has leaned forward across the table and even without his powers he can be intimidating. If they hadn’t been in a restaurant packed with people, he probably would have slammed Dean into a wall by now. 

”I-”

” _Have you ever had a broken bone?_ ”

”Well, yeah, but-”

” _And were you able to run and walk like you weren’t hurt? Like you weren’t in intense pain, all the time?”_

”Cas,” Dean breathes, and somehow it’s enough to drain all the anger from Castiel’s body. He buries his face in his hands, shoulders trembling and he can feel them now; he can feel how the two wings hang limply from his back, bones cracked and ruined and feathers mostly gone. They are _hideous_ , destroyed, but above all they _hurt, all the time_. 

”You’d zap out on me now if you could, right?” Dean asks softly, a small smile in his voice. Fingers are gently stroking Castiel’s arm, a motion that is supposed to mean something but Castiel can’t remember what. 

”I can’t.” 

”It’s okay, don’t worry. We’ll fix it. We always do.” 

At that, Castiel raises his head and finds the promise in Dean’s eyes. The strong will to protect, to help, to do the right thing. 

Castiel isn’t so sure that he is worthy of that kind of a look.

 

_Now_

Castiel doesn’t know if he has wings anymore, or if they are yet another figment of his imagination. The only reason he can look through the book is because he has done it before, because it doesn’t actually exist here in heaven. But his wings-

They are invisible to human eyes, but Castiel can see the shadow of them. They are still black, of course, marks of hellfire are not easily healed, but other than that they are intact. The feathers are long and glistening, properly tended to. It shoots a pang of regret through Castiel, thinking of how he completely disregarded taking care of his wings after he came to earth. Now they-

They are gone. No matter how much he stretches his neck around, he can’t spot them, and panic seizes his mind. An inhuman scream of pain tears itself from his throat and he falls to his knees, begging to anyone who listens to just _make it stop_. 

 

∞

 

The motel isn’t very nice, the floor is covered by a carpet with some unidentifiable stains (seriously, ew) and something is living in the shower. Dean doesn’t particularly mind (okay, he does), but he wishes that he was back in the bunker. 

Since Sam looked up the name of the first guy who died in the house while they drove here, there isn’t that much research for Dean to do. He locates the graveyard where the guy was buried (James Conner, 1956-1989) and considers going there to burn the bones on his own, before he realizes that if he brings Sam along he might get some help digging. Plus, it’s only three pm and someone might walk by and see him. 

Sam still hasn’t shown any signs of returning any time soon, so Dean heads to the fridge where the mandatory beer is stored. He smoothly shuts the door and pops the cap simultaneously, having performed the gesture countless times before. 

It’s not his favorite beer, but it’ll do. Sam picked it out while he was sleeping in the passenger seat. 

Just as he sits down that familiar wave of nausea hits him, and he quickly closes his eyes. 

”Cas? Got your ears on?” he whispers, his hands shooting up to hold his head because _shit_ , it hasn’t been this bad before. ”I’m gonna find you, I promise, and I’m gonna bring you back. Me and Sam, just wait and see.” He can feel it, the way his and Cas’s ”profound bound” or whatever it is seems to tug at his heart. 

_It doesn’t have to be formal prayer. Longing can be heard as well_. 

Fuck it, Dean is just going to admit that he _longs_ for Cas. Because, damn it, because the angel is dead and gone and Dean held his cold body in his arms, and he never got around to telling him how he really feels because he always figured that Cas knew. That Cas could see past Dean’s lies and how he flirted with every woman within a ten-mile radius. That he knew that Dean needs him like he needs air. 

 

Dean is a bit tipsy when Sam returns, words just this side of slurred and he is grateful that he is sitting down because otherwise the world would be spinning around him. There’s something about beer that just makes him like this, in a way that hard liquor never could. 

Sam guides him to one of the beds (the one closest to the door, because they both know that Dean always feels restless when he isn’t in between Sam and potential danger), where he lies down and closes his eyes and blacks out completely. He can probably thank last week’s insomnia for that. 

When Sam wakes him, hours later, they get up without a single word and drive to the graveyard. It’s one of those unorganized and gigantic ones, and it takes hours to find the right one (Sam softly yelling that he’s found it; Dean stuck next to one that says ”Jimmy, 1975-2011, and he has to check three times to make sure that it isn’t James Novak, Castiel’s vessel). To make the night even better, it’s early November and the ground is nearly frozen, and they spend nearly two hours just to get rid of the grass. By the time Sam’s shovel hits something solid, a dull, morning grey has spread across the sky. Without ceremony they crack open the coffin and find a skeleton. It still makes Dean uneasy, seeing corpses. Knowing that this was once a living, breathing person. 

That this is what will become of him one day.

Sam empties the salt barrel, drowns the bones in gasoline and throws a match inside. It sets fire immediately, and Dean has to take a step back when the flames get a little too close. 

”That’s it?” he mumbles, expecting some sort of resistance from the ghost. Sam just shrugs and takes a glance at their surroundings. 

”Maybe we should-”

”Oh god, please no,” Dean groans, already knowing what Sam is about to suggest. Two sleepless nights in a row? Driving home is going to be _so much fun_.

”Don’t you think it’s for the best?”

”I need my beauty sleep, Sammy.”

”We have to make sure-”

”Yeah, I know.” He wipes a hand over his face, finds that it does little to soothe him; does it again. And suddenly a thousand needles are exploding in his brain, making him stagger a step forwards before he falls to his knees, head in his hands. He’s probably screaming something and Sam is probably trying to tear his hands away, but all he can hear is the screeching, deafening scream in his ears and it scares the living hell out of him because-

Because this is _Cas_ ’s voice, he just knows it. His _true_ voice, and despite only having heard it once before he can tell that it’s tinged with pain. And he can’t do a thing about it.

Sam drives him back to the motel once he has been convinced that Dean’s head isn’t going to fall off, barely taking his eyes off him throughout the ride. Dean blames it on the lack of sleep, tries to make Sam believe that he is hungover (he is, always, but usually he can hide it behind snarky comments and bad jokes). Sam buys it, mostly because he doesn’t have the energy to fight him. Not again. 

 

When Dean wakes up it’s still dark outside. The pain has subsided, Cas’s voice has faded, but he can still hear it (the memory of it?). The fact is that there is something very wrong with Cas and Dean has to _fix it_ , he has to fix this before-

”What are you doing?” Dean says gruffly, voice cracked with sleep. Sam is two steps away from the door, fully dressed and is that a-

”Dean, we both know that you haven’t recovered since-”

”I don’t give a rat’s ass, you’re not going to a haunted house on your own. And did you really think you could sneak out on me? _Me?_ ”

Sam rolls his eyes, but to his credit he doesn’t say anything; he just watches Dean get dressed and grab his gun and empty one of the tiny bottles in the fridge to wake him up a little. 

It’s dark outside, the clock in the Impala says 5:14 pm which means that it’s actually 11:22 pm (just add six hours and eight minutes). Dean has been sleeping the entire day while Sam has been reading about nun-witches and done some yoga (”it’s called _tai-chi_ , Dean”) and made salt-bullets. And now they’re breaking into a house in what could probably be a nice neighborhood and Dean just wants to go home.

Because he has a home now. The bunker is _home_ , it’s safe and peaceful and _theirs_ , and no one can take it away from them (well, they can bloody well try). The only thing that’s missing is-

”Let’s go,” Sam says quietly, not a whisper but not far from it. Dean grits his teeth, grabs his gun and pushes the car door open. It’s heavier than he remembers, which should be a warning light on its own because this is the Impala and Dean remembers every single detail about it. He grunts a little from the effort but gets out, gun weighing a ton in his hand and legs strangely uncooperative. Dean shakes his head a little, blames the Jägermeister he emptied and walks on. 

This is all he knows how to do - walk on, despite the pain and the heaviness and the fucking heartbreak, just keep going ( _Keep going, son, pain only means you’re still alive_ ). 

Sam is fiddling with the lock, trying to get it open, but Dean’s patience is already wearing thin so he kicks the door open without warning. He ignores Sam’s bitch-face and walks inside. 

The house feels _empty_. Dean just knows that the ghost is gone, he can almost sense the lack of a spiritual presence. 

But something is still off. Whoever - whatever - haunted this house has left a trace that-

”Do you hear that?” Sam whispers. Dean nods. Yes, someone - something is on the second floor. Dean points at the stairs, and doesn’t wait for Sam to follow him. 

Upstairs, things are quiet, but not empty. Dean follows his gut and enters the second room, slowly pushes the door open and walks inside. 

He spots a familiar woman in a uniform, manages to open his mouth to yell a warning to Sam, and then he’s knocked unconscious. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Now_

The first thing Dean does when he opens his eyes is look for Sam. He has been in situations like this countless times, way too many, but apparently not enough to teach him how to avoid them. 

The shape of Sam’s body can be seen on the floor a few yards away, and while Dean is tied to- something (he is sitting on the floor, so most likely a pillar of some sort) Sam seems to be untied. With his heart somewhere in his throat, Dean’s eyes fixate on Sam’s torso, waiting for it to rise. 

_There it is_. 

At least they are both still alive - and as crazy as it sounds, they have made it through worse. 

”Sam,” Dean calls softly, but there is no movement other than the even breaths. He starts pulling at the restraints around his wrists, gritting his teeth when he finds that it is useless. 

”Cas, buddy, if there’s anything you can do-” he starts, cutting himself off the instant footsteps approach. 

”Dean Winchester. I hear that the third time’s a charm?” a voice says amusedly, and-

”Oh, _hell no_!” Dean exclaims, because the woman in a marine’s uniform is the fucking demon that stabbed him in the chest and then  ~~_killed_ ~~ stabbed Cas and there is simply no way she can be alive. 

”It’s gonna take a lot more than one of those angel blades to kill me,” she smirks, stepping way too close to Sam and Dean lets out a little snarl. She quips her eyebrows at him and gives a little laugh. 

”Like there’s anything you could do to stop me?” 

Dean tugs at his hands again, ignoring the sharpness that cuts into his skin. _Zip ties_ , of course they had to run into a bloody demon who actually knows how to effectively keep someone tied up. Dean twists his wrists but to no use: he is utterly and completely stuck. 

”Now, what to do with the two of you?” the demon asks playfully, nudging at Sam’s shoulder with her toes until he rolls and falls on his back. 

”Don’t fucking touch him,” Dean growls protectively. 

”Maybe I’ll just start with you instead, let your brother wake up to the sound of your screams.” 

She leaves Sam motionless on the floor and heads over to Dean instead. 

”Why didn’t the angel blade kill you?” Dean hurries to ask, hoping to stall the oncoming torture. Hopefully give Sam enough time to wake the fuck up already. 

”Like I said: it’s gonna take a bit more than that.” 

”How?” Dean insists. She stops, considers him, and shrugs as if she has decided that she has enough time to humor him. 

”Because of this,” she says, just as something white shoots out of her left palm. It’s not angelic light, Dean can look at it without going blind, but-

”I don’t understand.” The demon scoffs and with a snap of her fingers the light disappears. 

”Souls, Winchester. Souls contain eons of energy, and consuming them is child’s play. I can’t get why no one has tried it before. 

_Someone has,_ Dean thinks, and all he can see is Cas, nearly bursting with power and that dangerous glint in his eyes. 

”So that’s it? You eat people’s souls?”

She shrugs.

”People, ghosts, I gave demons a try but they mostly taste like ash.” 

”Does that mean-” 

He can’t quite finish the sentence. Did she freaking eat Cas’s soul? 

Does Cas even have a soul? Angels only have their grace, right? 

_But Cas was human_. For a while, at least. Maybe-

”I’m doing you hunters a favor, actually, taking care of more ghosts than you have in a decade. You should thank me.” 

Dean laughs unhappily.

”Thank you? Eat me.”

She tilts her head and offers a smile. ”I think I just might.” 

She throws a punch to his right jaw that make stars appear in his line of vision. Sam is showing no signs of waking up, and Dean realizes that he might be out of his league on this one. 

 

∞

 

Castiel shoots up from whatever he was doing. (Not that he was doing anything. He spends most of his time just existing.)

Something is wrong.

Terribly, terribly wrong. 

He taps the side of his head a few times, overwhelmed by the skull-splitting headache and _woah_ -

_Cas_ -

_Shit, man, I don’t know-_

_Please, just save him-_

There’s no questioning who Dean is referring to. Castiel paces back and forth (or is he sitting on the floor? He can’t tell) with worry, hearing Dean’s prayers get more and more desperate. 

_Fuck-_

_I don’t know how to stop her from-_

_She’s gonna-_

Castiel is burning with Dean’s pain. Every nerve in his  vessel body is on fire, and Dean is screaming at him to fix things before he is killed, and Castiel is utterly helpless. 

_Cas, please-_

_I’m sorry._

Another flash of pain, reminding Castiel of Dean’s mortality. Without a single coherent thought he throws every ounce of his grace and power into fighting the demon. Whether it is through Dean or through the remains of his soul, he doesn’t know, but he can sense her like a black cloud in his peripheral vision. 

”Run!” he yells at Dean, hoping that Sam is close enough to hear because now he can’t do anything but distract the demon and give them as much time as possible to escape. 

 

∞

 

Dean’s insides are on fire. No amount of screaming can lessen the pain, but still he can’t stop. He wonders if the demon has a plan, a meaning behind this pointless torture, or if it is just looking for entertainment.

Sam opens his eyes, at least, so there’s that. He immediately scrambles to his feet but the demon is too quick - she pins him to the wall and he can only watch as Dean gets ripped apart. 

All of a sudden she stops. Sam nearly trips as he lands on his heels, but he regains his footings and spends no time on the demon, he runs directly to Dean and cuts his hands loose. 

”Stop, you’re ruining everything!” she screams at no one, holding her head in her hands as she fights an invisible enemy. The brothers watch her with gaping mouths, not even considering using the distraction to get out of there. 

_RUN_

Dean hears it in his head, loud and clear (like church-bells and echoes drifting over the mountains). He _knows_ that it is Cas, somehow fighting the demon and-

”Sammy,” Dean urges, taking hold of the sleeve of his jacket as he pulls Sam out of his trance-like state. They leave the place for a relatively busy street, putting the screams behind closed doors as if hitting the mute-button. 

Sam exhales heavily and Dean can feel his eyes on him.

”Dude.”

”I know.”

”What. The. Hell.”

”I know.” 

”Seriously. What the actual hell just happened?”

”Cas just happened.” Dean almost regrets saying it when Sam’s eyes widen. They start walking down the street. 

”Cas?”

”He- I don’t know.”

”Dean, if Cas has something to do with this-”

”He told me to run.” Dean shrugs and tries to mark the end of the conversation. His brother doesn’t give up. 

”He told you to run?” he asks slowly. Dean shrugs again and Sam wipes a hand across his face.

”Okay, alright. So maybe he didn’t die?” With a frown Dean quickens his pace a little. He can feel Cas’s dead body in his arms like it happened yesterday, and it’s a stab in his gut. Sam doesn’t understand that, though.

Well, he understands. But he still didn’t have to live through it. 

”He was killed.”

”I-”

”What do you want me to say, Sammy? He’s dead. Gone. And wherever he is, heaven, hell, he just helped us escape that-”

That _thing_. 

”Speaking of,” Sam says, giving a shot at changing the subject. ”Should we go back? Get some backup? We can’t just leave her.” 

Dean nods, doesn’t know why he does it, and stops. 

”No. We find Cas. Bring him…” _Home_ is what he wants to say, but Sam might think that sounds odd. ”We bring him back.”

”Where do we even start?” 

There is defeat in Sam’s voice, but Dean chooses to ignore it. 

_You bastard. I’m going to find you._

 

∞

 

Castiel wakes up and finds that he is no longer alone. Two angels are in the room with him, and-

”Naomi?” he breathes, and she smiles sadly at him.

”Hello, Castiel. It’s been a long time.”

”You’re dead. I-”

”God brought me back. He has a plan for me.” 

Castiel thinks back on the time when he, too, believed that God still cared. Now he’s not so sure. 

”What’s going on?” he asks instead. Naomi hesitates, enough for Castiel to turn his focus to the other angel. His non-existing breathing stalls and he stands up swiftly.

”Gabriel-”

”Yeah, well, someone wanted me alive as well.” 

Despite having behaved admirably in her last moments, Castiel can barely look at Naomi. The endless brainwashing and torture has destroyed every last bit of trust he had in her, but Gabriel, on the other hand-

The archangel smiles his honey-sweet smile and clasps a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. 

”My condolences. On, you know, dying and all. How’s your boyfriend doing?” 

”My-?” Castiel stutters, not able to finish a thought before Gabriel answers his own question.

”Wallowing in grief and despair, I see. The usual then. Now, back to business. Heaven needs your help.”

Castiel’s mind is still stuck on Dean, trying to reach out to him to make sure that he is alright, but at the moment Dean’s focus is far away from him. There is a spark, a promise that he is alive, but not much more. In frustration Castiel turns him off and tries to recall whatever Gabriel was speaking of.

”My help? What could I possibly do?”

”You see, this a-hole of a demon has been stuffing herself full of souls and we-”

Naomi puts a hand in front of Gabriel, a suggestion that she do the talking (which is strange, because Gabriel outranks them all and he would usually not take orders, but now he backs off). 

”Her name is Safire. Crowley had her locked up, but seeing as hell has collapsed since the Winchester kidnapped him, she is now free. Several hundreds of years ago she walked the earth and gained power by consuming souls, much like she is doing now.”

”What do you want me to do?” Castiel asks, and if Dean was here he would throw his hands in the air and walk away with a worried frown.

_We’re family, Cas. That means coming to each other for help, and talking to each other before making stupid-ass decisions._

However this is not a ”stupid” decision. Castiel does not have a choice, he is dead and in heaven and if he ever dreams of getting out, he will have to work for it. 

Gabriel smirks at him which makes Castiel wonder if the archangel is reading his mind.

”What happened here? We found you unconscious after an impressive power surge went through your heaven-”

”Speaking of, what is this place, Cassie?” Gabriel interrupts Naomi, tapping the wall to his right. Even Castiel can sense that Naomi’s patience is growing thin, and he is about to ask Gabriel to stop when he realizes that he is just teasing her. 

”It’s the-”

His voice constricts and he tries to speak again, but the words won’t come out past the lump in his throat.

_It is home. Warm coffee in the mornings and buttery popcorn in front of a classic movie. Hearing Dean’s breaths through the walls. Sam smiling at him over the edge of an old book_.

”Oh, please, I’m going to _vomit_ ,” Gabriel groans, causing Castiel to look down bashfully. He is not used to someone being able to read his mind. He will have to be more careful from now on.

Castiel tries to drag his mind back to Naomi’s question, to the real issue here, and slowly he retells what he can remember.

”The demon - Safire - had captured Sam and Dean-”

”The _Winchesters_? Are you still in contact with those-”

Gabriel snaps his fingers and Naomi’s voice disappears. Unsure of what to do, Castiel keeps talking, uninterrupted.

”Since I…died, the bond I share with Dean Winchester has grown stronger. I can often sense his mood and, on occasion, his thoughts. I do not know if it goes both ways, but in his prayers he asks me if I can hear him too.”

”So what happened with the demon?” Gabriel asks, voice surprisingly gentle. Castiel frowns a little and he probably tilts his head even though it is not a conscious action.

”Dean sent a distress call, asking me to help in any way I could. So I did.”

”And what did you do?” Naomi prods, and of course - this is what they want to know. How he weakened the demon. A way to defeat it.

”I-”

_I don’t give a rats ass about any demons trying to take your throne, Crowley. Just tell me where I can find him!_

Castiel can’t help it, he has to smile because Dean is threatening Crowley and he is trying to bring him back and Castiel knows that this is love. 

”She has taken my human soul, and I think I was able to momentarily distract her by fighting her through it. However I am unsure if I can do it again.” 

”He managed it once, I am certain we can use this to our advantage,” Naomi says, and now it is clear that she is speaking to Gabriel, not Castiel. It confuses him that Gabriel would work with _anyone_ , let alone Naomi, but he is not one to question an archangel. 

Gabriel nods solemnly and his eyes roam Castiel’s body in a gentle way. 

”So you actually had a soul.” 

”I did.” 

He presses his lips together to hide a smile and shakes his head, like a dog shaking water from its fur. 

”Well, let’s go, team! No time to lose!” 

Castiel listens to Dean’s heartbeat for another two seconds before he forces him far, far away from his conscious thoughts.

 

∞

 

Dean still dreams of purgatory. He refuses to call them ”nightmares”, because he’s a grown man and men don’t _have_ nightmares, but still. They’re not very pleasant. 

And despite everything, despite having Cas back for months and talking about it and him explaining what went down, it’s the image of letting go of his hand that hurts the most. 

He wakes up with a scream dying on his lips and hopes to god that he hasn’t woken his brother. 

”Dean?” a gentle voice urges, and he closes his eyes in defeat. 

Damn it.

”Go back to sleep, Sammy,” Dean mutters and turns his head away from the familiar voice.

”Dean, please. Talk to me.” 

Dean huffs a breath but refuses to speak. If he stays quiet for long enough Sam will think that he’s gone back to sleep and leave him alone. 

A few blissful minutes of silence pass before Sam decides that it’s time for a therapy session.

”Look, Dean-”

”I’m not gonna-”

”Shut the _hell_ up,” Sam bites back. Dean swallows his words and crawls in on himself a little bit more. ”This is just like when you got back from hell. Don’t think I don’t notice that you’re drinking, you smell like a goddamn distillery _every day_. You barely sleep. Honestly, I’m starting to freak out a bit. You’re scaring me, and I need my brother back.” He exhales heavily and waits for a reply, probably wants Dean to get up and give him a fucking hug and cry on his shoulder. As fucking if.

”Are you done?” 

There’s a scoff and a sigh and then Sam shuts himself into the bathroom, and Dean falls asleep before he comes out. 

 

Dean prefers The Silent Treatment to Sam trying to get him to talk, but it’s really starting to tear on his nerves. They end up ignoring each other completely, and Dean drives to a restaurant at the other side of town for dinner. 

He orders a double hamburger with extra fries just because he can, and forces it down. Nausea hits him on the first bite, but he’s a stubborn bastard and he knows that he has to eat. Last week he had to make new holes in his belt to keep his pants up. 

Just as he is finishing the last of his fries he hears a familiar rustle in the air, and for a second he closes his eyes to allow himself to imagine that Cas just landed in front of him.

When he looks up, he chokes a little on the food in his mouth.

” _Gabriel_?” he asks, uncertain and doubtful (and honestly a little pissed off). 

”Good to see you too, Dean-o! How and where’s that hot piece of brother of yours?” 

Dean swallows thickly and tries to sort through the possibility that this really _is_ Gabriel, and not a demon/shapeshifter or some other fucking creature that he can’t think of right now. 

”I thought you were-”

”Dead, murdered, stabbed in the heart, but brought back by the old man. He says hi, by the way.” 

Dean shakes his head and takes a sip of his beer. 

”What the fuck are you doing here?”

”Oo, such language! Alright, I’ll be brief. I need to use you as bait.” 

Spurting beer through the nose is not very pleasurable; it burns through Dean’s sinuses and he coughs and snorts and considers pouring water through his nose just to get rid of the overwhelming smell of _beer_.

”Could you-”

The archangel snaps his fingers and the uncomfortable sensation vanishes. Dean takes a deep breath of air and chuckles lightly.

”Why would I let you do that?” 

Gabriel rolls his eyes and picks up a fry from Dean’s plate (and chews really loudly, Dean kind of wants to tell him to stop). ”I don’t need you to _let_ me do anything. I can haul your ungrateful ass to the south pole and leave you hanging upside down as bait for polar bears if I wanted to.”

”Polar bears only live on the north pole.” 

” _Point being_ , the reason I am here is because we have a common enemy and I figured, you know, why piss off the Winchesters when they can be so handy in a fight? So here I am, playing nicely.”

Dean just knows that he is hiding something, but honestly? Right now he doesn’t fucking care. Being bait and not having to do any fighting for once sounds good. 

”Great! I’ll text you the details.”

”Text me?”

Gabriel ignores him. ”And bring the tall one. Y’never know when he might come in handy.” 

”Hey, hang on,” Dean hurries to say before he can fly off again. The angel gives him a look that shows just how inferior he is, but as stated earlier - Dean is stubborn, and he doesn’t give a shit. 

”Just who or what are we up against? It’d be good to know what to expect.” 

”Old friend of yours, apparently. Does the name Safire ring a bell?” 

Dean shrugs, so Gabriel adds, ”Soul-eating demon.” His eyes flicker to Dean’s abdomen, making him squirm a little under the scrutiny. ”She’s left quite the mark on you…” 

When his voice dies off, Dean doesn’t know quite what to think or do. He rubs the skin where the wound was through his shirt and gives Gabriel an accusing look. 

”Cut it out.” 

”Always so friendly, Winchester. Well, I’ll see ya!” 

”No, wait!” Dean almost shouts out, getting some strange looks from the young couple at the table next to his. Gabriel looks like he has already partly disappeared, nothing but two kind eyes telling Dean to speak. ”Can you- Do you know where he is?” 

There is no mistaking who Dean is talking about. Cas is everywhere in his mind and Gabriel just has to hear Dean’s loud thoughts. Gabriel’s eyes look pained, a foreign expression on his face and Dean kind of wishes that he hadn’t noticed it (because he needs Gabriel to be strong and happy-go-lucky and a badass warrior of god). 

”He is in heaven.” 

The words are like a punch of relief to Dean’s gut and he forces himself to breathe. ”Can you get him back?”

He vanishes at Dean’s words, making the napkin on the table flutter and slide away. 

 

∞

 

When Sam returns from his run the Impala is gone, and for a fleeting moment he thinks that this is it - that Dean simply left him and went back home. Hell, his brother’s been _dying_ to go back to the bunker ever since they left it, and Sam can’t say that he feels any differently.

Maybe they _are_ getting old.

He fits his body into the tiny shower and washes away the sweat and grime and dust from the last couple of days, wonders if he’s been smelling like a teenager who hasn’t discovered deodorant and scrubs his skin a little harder. The soap smells like lemon and grass but it’s kind of nice. 

Once he gets out of the shower he pulls his fingers through his hair and starts looking for a pair of scissors. He finds one in the Dean’s duffel, maybe not the sharpest pair but they’ll do. The sink will probably be clogged and he will probably find little strands of hair everywhere the next few months, but he stands in front of the mirror and he cuts his hair, and it actually looks okay. He does it the same way Dean used to, takes a few strands of hair between two fingers and pulls his fingers down until there is only about three inches left, and then he cuts it off. 

Maybe it will at least spur a reaction from his brother when he gets back. 

If he gets back. 

”Shut up, Sam,” he growls. Of course he’ll be back, he left his duffle and his favorite coat. Sam forces a breath and tries to stave off the anxiety, has to keep telling himself that his brother will come back because he doesn’t know what he would do with himself if he was abandoned. Call him weak, way too dependent on his brother, but without him-

Without him Sam wouldn’t be able to do this messed up thing called life. And it sucks that Dean has what can only be PTSD, that he shuts everything off and is damn near suicidal. And what sucks even more is that even after all of these years together, Sam still doesn’t know how to get through to him. 

He tucks a few strands of his now shorter hair behind his ear and gives himself one last look in the mirror. 

Dean returns hours later, drunk in that horrible way that just makes him pissed off at everything and everyone. Sam can only hope that he didn’t kill half the town on his way back to the motel. 

”The hell r’you still doin’ up?” he slurs, slamming the door behind him and crashing into the kitchenette. If he could, Sam would have stopped him from taking the bottle of whiskey and downing two glasses in three seconds, but he likes his nose too much. Dean is a complete mess and it’s scary, hell, it’s freaking terrifying that this ghost in front of him is the same brother that raised Sam, that took care of him every single day when their father wasn’t able to. 

Now he is so much like John that Sam can barely see where one begins and the other ends. 

”Come on, Dean. Let’s go to bed.” Dean snarls angrily at Sam’s words and swats his hands away, but he lets himself be guided to the bed. When Sam offers him a glass of water he throws a string of curses at him and Sam quickly backs off. 

There is no telling if his brother actually falls asleep or just dozes off into unconsciousness, but eventually the room is quiet again. Sam sits on the edge of his own bed and watches Dean warily, hands in his hair and tears threatening to spill over in his eyes because he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know how to fix this and he needs Dean to be okay because if Dean isn’t okay then what is he supposed to do? 

The most frustrating part of all is Dean’s refusal to speak. Now, Sam knows that he isn’t a psychologist (not that Dean would dream of seeing a shrink), but he just thought that they trusted each other more than this. That Dean understood that he is putting them both in danger by acting like a-

Sam doesn’t have a word for it. 

He leans back in the bed, fully dressed but too tired to care. And before he falls asleep he conjures a mental image of black hair, blue eyes and a tan trench coat, hoping that he can hear him.

_We need you. Dean needs you, Cas. Where the hell are you?_


	4. Chapter 4

One thing that Dean hates even more than waking up from a nightmare is waking up and being hungover. His brain is pounding through his ears and the only way he knows how to treat it is with more alcohol, but somehow he can’t get his brain to function enough to make his limbs move. A slap to the cheek wakes him up a little and he instinctively puts a hand on the burning skin.

”You _bitch_ ,” he growls, without a single drop of affection in the familiar word. Sam gives him a strange look and shakes his shoulders.

”Are you okay? _Dean_?”

” _What?”_

Sam pulls a spectacular bitch-face and pulls his hands away when Dean pushes at them. ”You weren’t _breathing_ ,” he says through gritted teeth, nostrils flared and if Dean hadn’t felt so shitty he would have taken a picture of him. 

”I’m fine.” He tries to sit up, swivels a little and when black spots start to dance around the room he falls back in bed. ”I need a drink,” he mutters under his breath, and whether Sam didn’t hear him or pretended not to, he can’t really tell (and right now he couldn’t care less). 

There is some rustling, and then Sam is suddenly right next to him. 

”We need to talk about this, Dean.”

Dean honestly considers punching him - then he realizes that doing so would be kind of low, even for him, so instead he does the next best thing. He knocks him out of the way, gets to his feet and stumbles into the bathroom. 

A hot shower. That’s all he needs right now. 

”You can’t keep doing this forever, you know,” Sam shouts after him.

”Yeah? Watch me.” 

There is some blissful silence after that and Sam leaves him the fuck alone. 

 

Dean is the one who breaks the mutual silence treatment hours later, because Gabriel actually texted him a time and place to meet (the old docks, 10pm, tonight) and he needs to bring Sam along. Time to put a (temporary) end to their feud. 

”Hey, Sammy. I’m sorry.” 

Sam raises an eyebrow in his direction but doesn’t say anything else. With a deep, I’m-so-sick-of-your-shit-Sammy-exhale Dean clamps his fingers around Sam’s bicep and squeezes, hard. Sam finally looks into his eyes.

”Sorry.” It feels like twenty years ago, when Sam was just a kid and Dean had raised his voice at him enough to make him cry, and Dean had to make him believe that he really, truly was sorry to get him to stop. His brother heaves a breath and nods. 

”Fine. But stop treating me like I’m an idiot.” 

Dean’s lips pull up into a crooked grin and he says, ”Can’t make any promises.” Sam snorts a little laugh and things suddenly feel okay again. Dean clears his throat and shows the text message to Sam.

”Gabriel paid me a visit the other day.”

” _Gabriel?_ As in dead-archangel-trickster-Gabriel? No way,” Sam scoffs, leaning back in his seat a little.

”That’s what I said, but it’s really him. And he’s after the same demon that we are, apparently it’s name is Safire. Said he needed us as bait, and I figured: why the hell not? Maybe he can take her down.” 

The wheels are spinning behind Sam’s forehead and Dean hides a smile as he sees his brother thinking through the dangers, pros and cons just like had. At the end, he simply shrugs. 

”Let’s go for it.”

”Great,” Dean says, aiming for enthusiastic but ending up more ironic than anything. 

”Oh, and I’ve come up with something else. You know the haunted house that was the reason we came here at all?” 

”What about it?”

”I went there yesterday, and there’s no emf, no trace of ghosts, nothing. It’s like it just vanished. And I was thinking-”

Dean interrupts him, ”That demon bitch must have eaten it. _Fuck_ , that’s actually kind of useful.”

A crinkle appears on Sam’s brow and it takes everything inside Dean to keep himself from rolling his eyes. 

”Hey, one less ghost to worry about, right?”

”Right,” Sam sighs pensively. Dean can’t even be bothered to ask him about it. 

”So, now what do we do?” 

 

4.

 

”I won’t do it. I won’t put them in danger.” 

”Cassie-” Gabriel tries, but he falls silent when Castiel gives him a determined look.

”Out of all the humans on earth you had to pick the Winchesters to use as bait?”

Gabriel seems to radiate with grace and power and for a split second his wings are visible. When he speaks, he sounds angry. ”Sam and Dean stand a better chance of surviving than any other humans, or hunters. Are you saying that I should sacrifice a soul just because you want to protect your puppies?” 

With a deep pout Castiel turns away from him and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

They are in the map room, without Naomi this time around. Castiel still can’t decide which of them is in charge, but now that he has heard Gabriel’s plan he almost wishes that the other angel was here as well. Not that she would care more about Sam and Dean - after Castiel, Gabriel is probably the Winchester’s closest ally.

”They agreed to do it, you know,” Gabriel adds, and somehow that makes Castiel both frustrated and proud and scared and he wants to wrap his wings around himself but he can’t make them move.

”My wings,” he whispers, tugging lightly at his hair and digging fingernails along his scalp.

Gabriel’s voice is surprisingly soft when he speaks. ”You are in a human heaven. They were made to shut out grace and angelic features, to prevent angels from interfering. Your wings are fine, Cassie.” 

”Don’t-” He cuts himself off and bites his tongue because Balthazar used to call him _Cassie_ and he killed him, didn’t he?

Gabriel stays quiet, which is quite uncharacteristic of him. 

”I can still hear prayers,” Castiel adds, just because he needs Gabriel to say something.

”There probably isn’t anything that can block a prayer,” Gabriel replies with a smile. 

Just like he came without a warning, Gabriel leaves without a single word of goodbye. Castiel instantly misses his presence but for now he will have to do without it. 

Dean has been awfully quiet the past couple of hours (or days? Weeks?). Just as the thought strikes his mind, Castiel reaches out for green eyes and freckles and a gentle voice, and he finds him easily. Longing and fear and sorrow strikes his core and he tries to replace the feelings with comfort, safety, love. Something tugs at his grace and he cherishes the sensation. 

_You gotta help me out, Cas. I don’t fucking know how to get you back._

**I’m in heaven** , he thinks back, and it’s like a shockwave that travels along the invisible bond. He can almost feel Dean’s little yelp of surprise at the other end.

_Cas?_

**I’m okay, Dean.**

_Shit, Cas, what the fuck? How do I get you back?_

**I don’t know.**

He feels the fear in his own voice and forces it down, swallows it whole and it gets stuck in his throat but he can’t allow Dean to feel it too. The truth is-

The truth is that he is an angel in a human heaven, with a lost soul and no way of getting out. His one real chance is-

_Gabriel took off when I asked if he could fix this. Have you seen him?_

**I do not know if he can. Listen, Dean - I’m in a human heaven, and I am too weak to get out on my own. The only way I could power up is-**

Dean slips away from his reach and it’s more frustrating than what Castiel is capable of handling. Without a single coherent thought he grabs one of the chairs around the map table and throws it against the wall, pleased when it breaks into a million pieces. 

 

∞

 

”Damn it,” Dean whispers under his breath. Cas was right there, right in his grasp but not close enough and then Sam called his name and he lost focus for one millisecond too long. 

”Hey, Dean, Gabe’s waiting for us. Let’s go,” Sam repeats, and Dean has no choice but to stop thinking about lost angels and stolen souls. 

The place they are meeting at is your regular creepy old warehouse by the docks, complete with spiderwebs and squeaky pipes and water dripping from the ceiling. The instant Dean steps inside he cringes and desperately wants to wash his hands, but stubborn as he is he soldiers on. Sam notices his discomfort and gives him a not-so-comforting snort and a pat on the shoulder. 

”Hey, at least it’s better than the shower at our motel.” 

”Ugh, don’t make me think about it,” Dean groans and shivers all over. He-

**Gabriel is not alone, he’s-**

Dean pats his ear a few times as if his head is a phone with bad reception. Cas is really not getting through and he doesn’t know how to fix it. 

Before Dean’s mind can fully comprehend what Cas was trying to say, he spots Gabriel along with an all too familiar woman and if Sam hadn’t put a hand out in front of him he would have _lunged_ at her.

”What the _fuck_ is she doing here?” he spits, making sure to aim at Naomi’s well-polished shoes. She gives him one of those cold smiles and straightens out an invisible crease in her suit. 

”Dean, Sam, I’m glad to see you are still alive,” she says courtly, and Dean almost laughs as Gabriel rolls his eyes next to her. 

”Cut the crap, sister. Everyone here knows that y’all hate each other. Let’s just wait with the punches till this sonofabitch-demon is taken care of.” 

Dean throws his hands in the air and has to physically increase the distance between himself and that- that lying manipulative fucking bitch that brainwashed Cas and made him do shit that he never should have done and because of it he thought that he deserved to stay in purgatory and if it wasn’t for her-

”Dean,” Sam says warningly, and he gasps a breath. If only his lungs could remember how to breathe even when his mind freaks out. 

”Okay, so what’s the plan?” Sam continues, obviously steering the attention away from Dean but right now Dean couldn’t be more grateful. 

Gabriel clears his throat, gives Naomi a sideways glance and leans against one of the columns that support the roof.

”We’re gonna summon her and offer you two up as payment for Castiel’s soul.”

” _What?_ ” Sam and Naomi say at the same time. If Dean wasn’t so pissed off he would probably laugh at their expressions. 

”Sounds fair. How’s it work?” he asks instead, and there’s a pounding against his left temple that can only be Cas trying to get his attention but for now he ignores it. 

”Well, we’ve got all the ingredients for a summoning spell. And-” Gabriel snaps his fingers and suddenly a devil’s trap is scorched into the concrete floor. ”-a trap. A few lines in latin and we’re good to go. What d’ya say, Sammy-boy? Care to astonish us with your knowledge of dead languages?” 

Sam’s ears are burning red and his eyes ask Dean if this is really a good idea, if they should go through with this but Dean doesn’t know how to say no. He hasn’t come up with a better one and they have to do _something_. 

At Sam’s barely-there nod of approval, Naomi starts pouring ingredients into a bowl and ends by setting fire to it. Apparently this is Sam’s queue (Dean wouldn’t know, honestly), so he steps up to the table and receives a piece of paper from Naomi that he glances through before he starts reading. Dean has done enough exorcisms now to recognize a few words (he’s getting more and more like Sam with every day). but his pronunciation is nowhere near as fluent as his brother’s. He holds back a scoff of laughter when Naomi raises an eyebrow at Sam, clearly impressed but not too keen on showing it. 

_Hell yeah, you angel bitch,_ Dean thinks, making sure to be excessively loud. Naomi’s expression doesn’t change, but Dean is sure that if she weren’t a fucking angel she would have blushed. 

In the end it’s quite unspectacular. There’s no big flash of light, no explosion, suddenly the demon is just standing there right in front of them, a bored look on her face. 

”Is this some kind of joke? Do you _want_ me to kill you?” she says as she sees Dean. He gives her nothing more than a lopsided grin in return. 

”We want the angel’s soul, Safire,” Namoi says courtly. If there is one thing Dean has to say about her, it is that she can be goddamn intimidating. Most definitely not someone you want to say ’no’ to. 

”In exchange for the Winchester boys, I gather.” She laughs, a short, humorless laugh and paces the trap, as if looking for a way out. Dean shoots a nervous glance at Sam, knowing that he too is checking the trap for any faults. As far as he can tell, it looks perfect. 

”Well, you wanna know what I think? Why settle for two souls when I can have them all.” 

Before either of the angels can act, the demon clamps her fingers into a fist, and the four of them stop dead in their tracks, Sam clutching his throat, Dean unable to move, Gabriel looking pissed off and Naomi looking confused. The demon flicks a finger in Dean’s direction and suddenly he is flying. 

It’s always a strange sensation, to be flying and knowing that you’re going to crash and that it’s going to hurt like hell, while in the moment you feel completely weightless. On pure instinct Dean curls himself into a ball, locking his head behind his arms and hoping that-

He lets out a deep yell as he slams through something unstable but sharp and feels how the skin on his arm and thigh is sliced open. It’s deep, _fuck,_ it’s a really deep cut because his pant leg is already getting wet and blood must be oozing out. There’s a loud crash and he flinches, but doesn’t look up. Feeling squeamish and hoping that nothing else is going to attack him, he removes his arms from his head and clamps a hand on his bleeding thigh, using his other hand to pull his belt out. It’s a painstakingly slow process, and he can hear Sam’s groans from somewhere not too far away. 

”Dean?” he coughs, voice doing its best to hide what can only be pain. But Dean can’t help him right now. 

First he has to slow the bleeding. He bites his lower lip between his teeth as he wraps the belt around his leg and tightens it, as much as he can and then a bit more, and ties it in place. His entire leg pulsates and it hurts like a sonofabitch, but he’s going to live. 

”Sammy,” he gasps, searching the rumble for his brother.

”Here.” 

”Keep talking, where are you?”

”I think the wall fell on top of me,” Sam groans, and suddenly there is a rumble to Dean’s left. He limps forwards and spots a hand, and it looks all wrong sticking out from underneath a pile of rubble but that is most definitely Sam’s hand. Dean bends down and grabs it, and when Sam squeezes back a pressure leaves his chest. 

They’re okay.

”What the hell happened?” Dean asks as he searches for the easiest way to get his brother out. Sam coughs before he replies. 

”She flicked you away and then went for Naomi. Carved the banishing sigil on her forehead and then both she and Gabe vanished.”

Dean grabs the edge of what seems to be a quite stable part of the wall, testing the weight first and when he is confident that he can do it, he bends his knees and heaves the wall up with a growl. Before he can even say anything, Sam has crawled out from underneath the rubble and positioned himself at a safe distance, enough for Dean to let go of the wall. 

”Then she went after me and I started the exorcism, apparently it was enough to make her leave. Not until after she’d thrown me into the wall, of course.” 

Dean approaches his brother warily, afraid to find him more injured than he seems to be. Without asking he gently runs his fingers along his scalp, checking for any open wounds, then continues down his neck and shoulders, padding both his chest (”watch the _ribs_ , Dean!”) and stomach before Sam stops him. 

”My left foot hurts like hell. Other than that, I feel fine.” As if on cue, Sam winces from pain and motions at his foot, enough to make Dean pull his shoe and sock off and tug the hem of his jeans up as far as it will go. He ignores the sharp intakes of breath and takes a firm hold around his brother’s ankle, hoping to every god that he knows of that it’s nothing more than a sprain. Sam curses between gritted teeth.

”Hey, it’s okay, Sammy. It’s just a sprain,” Dean uses his big-brother voice, the don’t-you-worry-I’m-gonna-take-care-of-you voice, and it works. It always does. ”Here, look.” With one hand he undoes Sam’s belt and pulls it out of the loops, then he uses it to wrap around his foot to stop the blood from flowing in and ruining stuff more than it already has. ”You’re gonna be fine, this’ll be one fine story to tell, huh? Spraining your fucking ankle in a demon fight?” 

Sam doesn’t laugh, but he rolls his eyes and Dean considers that a small win. 

Once he’s fastened the belt as best as he can, there’s really not much to do except trying to get Sam on his feet. His own leg reminds him of its current state and he falters a little, but eventually they get up. 

The walk back to the car is agonizingly slow. Sam blacks out halfway there and Dean has to carry his gigantunormous moose-body. There is only one way he can do it: military style, like John taught him, bending down to wrap one arm around his legs and then hoisting him up across his shoulders. Getting him into the car without knocking his head on the frame is fucking mission impossible, but at least Sam wakes up a little. 

He doesn’t say a single word on the ride back to the motel. He stays quiet when Dean helps him limp into the room, praying that no one can see them. He lets himself be maneuvered onto the bed and Dean doesn’t want to leave him but the first aid kit is in the trunk of the car and he needs a _real_ bandage instead of a fucking belt. 

It’s not until Dean is removing the belt, being careful to keep the pressure on his foot with one hand, that Sam speaks. 

”Dean, you’re bleeding,” he breathes, already reaching for the cut on his arm. 

”I’ll be fine, let me just finish with your fucking foot,” he growls, slapping Sam’s hands out of the way. He would never admit it, but he’s actually growing a bit dizzy. It probably has something to do with the fact that his left pant leg and his left sleeve are soaked in what can only be blood. 

”Dean,” Sam tries again. Dean practically growls at him. Starting just above Sam’s toes, he starts wrapping the bandage firmly around his foot, around the ankle and a few inches up his leg. Sam whines and says that it’s too tight; Dean tells him to shut up. They get him to lie down and Dean shoves every single pillow he can find underneath his foot to elevate it, then grabs some painkillers and water for his brother. Sam takes it gratefully and leans back on the bed.

It is not until now that Dean can pay attention to himself. The gash on his thigh is _fucking deep_ , and he’s gonna need stitches but Sam’s always been better at that. One look at his brother tells Dean that he’ll just have to live with an ugly scar. Sam’s face is tinged with pain. 

Stitching himself is not pretty, it never has been. It hurts like hell and there is something about sticking a needle into his own skin that just makes every nerve inside him scream at him to stop. But he makes it, somehow, in between curses and deep gulps of whiskey. 

Getting the gash on the arm is a bit trickier due to where it’s placed, but soon he is as good as new. 

Well, almost. 

He collapses on the second bed, not even aware of the fact that there is now blood all over the covers, and blacks out in an instant. 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean is _hurt_ , and _scared_ , and _in pain_ , and Castiel can feel all of it but he _can’t do anything_. He reaches for him and tries to heal him but it is pointless - he is too weak. 

He felt it when Gabriel and Naomi were cast out into the void. He heard their screams. They have not been able to return quite yet, but Castiel has faith in them. Gabriel is strong. Naomi is persistent. 

All he can really do now is wait. 

For what, he does not know. 

At least Dean is getting some well-needed rest now. Castiel pours himself through their bond to keep the night terrors at bay. The hunter needs to sleep in peace. His days have been too long and his nights too short. 

 

_Three months earlier_

Since Castiel does not need to sleep, he hears most everything that goes on in the bunker at night. Sam’s soft snores, the occasional rustle in the plumbing system, an animal grazing on top of the roof. He likes these noises and can easily spend the entire night just listening. 

At least if it is a good night. If not, well. Castiel can’t help but intervene. 

Dean has night terrors far too often and even though Sam has asked him about it several times, Dean has refused to reveal what they are about. 

Castiel knows, of course, he sees the fire and the flames of hell and the familiar fists that knocked him to the ground when he hadn’t done a good enough job with Sam. He sees everything. 

The first time he confronted Dean about it, he ignored him for days afterwards. The night that Dean only slept for five minutes, Castiel talked to him about the dreams he had in purgatory (as an angel it was the first time in his existence that he experienced dreams). The night that Dean woke up covered in a fine sheet of sweat, Castiel brought him water and a towel to wipe his brow. 

Tonight, it’s different. Tonight, when Dean wakes up, he doesn’t make a sound. He sits quietly on the edge of the bed and has his hands resting on his knees, palms up in a defeated gesture. Castiel twitches with the urge to comfort him, because even though he looks peaceful, there is a brewing storm inside him. 

When he does move into Dean’s line of sight, it is because of one single thought that he hears inside the hunter’s mind: ” _I won’t do this anymore. I can’t. Everything would just be so much easier if-”_

Castiel doesn’t say anything to mark his arrival, but he knows that Dean would have heard the flutter of wings. If he looks close enough he can actually spot a smile on his lips. 

”Heya, Cas,” he mumbles brokenly.

”Hello.” 

Not a word is said as Dean suddenly leans forwards, falling hard on his knees as he hugs Castiel’s midsection, face pressed against his stomach and it is only slightly uncomfortable. 

It is only then that Dean starts sobbing. 

Unsure of how to react, Castiel stays still and doesn’t say a word. The sobs grow heavier and it is brutal to watch him fall apart like this, clinging to Castiel’s coat as if he is drowning and Castiel can rescue him. 

”I’m so tired of it all, Cas. I can’t-” He keeps speaking but the words are lost in the hiccups and the tears. 

Castiel doesn’t know why, but he suddenly gets the urge to run his fingers through Dean’s hair. He has a feeling that it would be the closest thing resembling preening another angel’s feathers, and without asking he puts a gentle hand on Dean’s head. The only reaction he gets is a moment’s pause in the crying. Since Dean doesn’t object to the touch, Castiel starts moving his fingers. Inch by inch he scratches, massages and pats Dean’s scalp, fingers kneading lumps of stress on the nape of his neck. 

If this had occurred during the day, Dean would probably have pushed him away by now. He would have given Castiel some half-hearted excuse of some other place he needed to be, and ran away from there as quickly as possible. 

So Castiel makes sure to enjoy the moment. Dean’s fingers dig into his lower back, his arms surround his hips and his head leans heavily against Castiel’s stomach. A content sigh leaves his lips as Castiel rakes his nails along his scalp, and if only he could save these precious minutes forever. Having Dean so close - he can’t quite explain the feeling, but it is exquisite.

”I can’t fucking _sleep_. It’s been _years_ since I got back, and I can’t-” He lets out a frustrated sigh.

”You are safe here, Dean. Alastair cannot reach you here.”

”Can you-” he swallows audibly and pulls away a little, enough to gaze up into Castiel’s eyes. 

It is in that moment that Castiel realizes that this _feeling_ in his chest, the one that has lodged itself there and made a nest for itself ever since Castiel laid hand on Dean in hell, this feeling is _love_. 

”Will you stay with me?” 

”I will not leave you, Dean.” 

 

∞

 

The bed is wet when Dean wakes up. For an instant he is six years old again, with Sammy crying in the crib and John yelling at him for making a mess. They leave the motel at 2 am so John won’t have to tell the manager that his son pissed in the bed.

Dean curses the memory and tries to sit up; failing miserably to do so. It’s-

He’s-

_What is-_

Things are _foggy_ , and all mixed up and blurry and-

_Woah_ , the sheets are red. _Not good_ , Sammy’s hurt and there’s blood and someone is bleeding and he needs to help him but he can’t he-

He collapses into the mattress and groans at the nausea in his guts. 

Ah, yes, the bathroom. That’s always a good idea when he feels like he might puke. Cleaning up vomit is probably the most gross thing he has ever had to do-

Standing up is not even an option. He groans again, he can’t help it. He _hurts_ just about _everywhere_ , but mostly in his goddamn leg and-

When he tries to move his head starts swimming and once again-

”Dude, at least try and keep it to yourself?” Sam mutters from underneath his pillow. Dean doesn’t understand. 

”Sam,” he exhales, wanting to put more force in the name but he can’t. 

_Shit_ , he’s fucking freezing his balls off. Fumbling fingers pull the covers up further and he tries again.

”Sammy.”

” _What_?” Sam bites back, but the bed creaks and at least his little brother sits up.

” _Help_ ,” Dean whimpers. 

Sam is on him in an instant. He pulls the covers off and Dean flinches at the rush of cold air, but it’s nothing compared to Sam’s sharp inhale. 

”Jesus christ, _Dean_ ,” his brother gasps, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off and if Dean wasn’t so out of it, he would have made a bad joke by now. A hand clamps his thigh and it hurts like hell, but when he tries to push the arms away Sam fucking _growls_ at him.

”You ripped your stitches, you’re bleeding out. Just lay still.” 

Ouch, that doesn’t sound good. He does his best to listen to his brother and doesn’t move.

”Damn it, I thought you were…You know…” Sam starts, making an obnoxious gesture in front of Dean that makes him burst into a laugh. Sam joins him, shaking his head with teeth flashing. 

Once they have quieted down a little, Sam just gives him this _look_ and Dean instantly knows what it means.

” _No_ ,” he says with as much force as he can.

”You’ve lost too much blood. It’s either that or I summon a demon.”

”Sam,” Dean whines, but it’s no use.

Sam calls a fucking ambulance. Dean would have stopped him but right now he finds it difficult to even get out of bed. Once the doctors arrive they put him on a fucking stretcher and carry him out to the fucking ambulance, and Dean has to bite his tongue to keep from cursing at them.

At least Sam is allowed to go with them, after he showed them his sprained ankle. Good. No way Sam would be allowed to drive the Impala with a busted foot. 

They wrap him up in some blankets and he wants to push them away but it’s actually kind of nice. Somewhere in the distance he can hear Sammy talking about an accident, that they were robbed and Dean was stabbed. They must have given him some freakishly strong painkillers because right now he feels even more dizzy and confused than before, and-

 

∞

 

Castiel is getting worried. Gabriel and Naomi have still not returned, and Dean needs their help. He can sense a twinge of pain as a doctor stitches the muscle and skin together, but other than that Dean is quiet. He hasn’t tried to contact Castiel a single time. 

Sam, on the other hand. Sam prays to him constantly and it is frustrating to hear him but not be able to reply. 

_Dean needs you_.

What does that mean? Does Dean need him to heal him? No, Castiel is quite certain that Sam was hinting at something else. 

Castiel would like to listen to more of Sam’s prayers but that will have to wait - Gabriel just appeared in front of him.

”That’s one tough son of a bitch,” he coughs, actually leaning against the wall and looking a bit roughed up. 

”What happened?” 

”She banished us to the void. Naomi’s got the sigil burned into her skin so it’ll take longer for her to get back. How’re our boys doing?”

Castiel smiles at the endearment. If he didn’t know better, he would think that Gabriel has started to _care_ for Sam and Dean (well, he does know better, but he will not tell Gabriel this much). 

”They’re at a hospital. Sam is okay, Dean needed a blood transfusion. They will be fine.” 

”Are you saying that because you believe it or because you want them to be?” Gabriel asks with his usual smirk, and Castiel can’t help but roll his eyes at him. _Archangels_. 

”Can’t you just fly down there and heal them? Start a plan ”B”, as you call it?” 

This time, Gabriel actually looks a little worried.

”I’m not nearly strong enough yet. I barely made it here. It’ll take me hours to power up enough to go to earth.” 

There is a beat of silence before Castiel asks, deadpan voice, ”And do you have to spend those hours here?”

Gabriel laughs good-heartedly and it tugs at the corners of Castiel’s mouth too. 

 

∞

 

”You’re being a dick.” 

”Shut up.”

”Seriously. Fuck you.” 

”Look, Dean-”

No, no, no, no, no. Dean is not hearing any of this bullshit. If Sam wants to abandon him at a fucking hospital to go back to the motel to get his laptop so he can do some research, then _fine_. But he sure as hell ain’t driving the Impala. 

”So do you want the car parked at a crappy motel for the week or so it’ll take before you can leave here?” 

” _Week_?” 

Dean is halfway off the bed when determined steps echo through the hall and the door is pushed open. The two brothers instantly turn towards the person like two deer caught in headlights. 

Jody Mills laughs at the sight of them.

”When I heard that two suspicious-looking Feds had been brought in under the names Dernt and Armstrong, I knew it had to be you.” Her smile is contagious and Sam even gets to his feet (one and a half foot, excuse you). 

”It’s good to see you, Jody,” Sam exclaims, wrapping her in a bear-hug that has Dean pouting from his narrow bed. However, when she comes to hug him too, he actually feels himself relaxing. 

”Seriously though, Dean? Green Day? I thought you were more old-school than that.” 

”What can I say, I’m a man of many tastes. How’re you holding up, Jody?” 

Dean adjusts his head on the pillow, careful not to move any other part of his body. The painkillers he’s on now are not quite as powerful, but he still feels high. Or drunk. Or both. 

”I’m okay, you know. Sick n’ tired of B&E’s and teenage drug dealers. What are you boys up to? Need any help?” 

Dean almost speaks but then he moves a little too fast and he has to close his eyes to keep from throwing up. 

_Where is that goddamn angel when he needs to be healed?_

Going by the current silence in the room, both Sam and Jody are giving him the most pitying look that has ever existed. Dean would very much like to bitch slap them both.

”Sam,” he warns, and it’s all he can do before he has to focus on breathing. 

Jody’s voice is gentle when she speaks, ”What’d the doctors say?”

”He lost more than half a gallon of blood. They’ve been pumping in more for hours now, but he’s still so _pale_.”

”’m right here, Sammy,” Dean slurs, but he can feel himself slipping into unconsciousness. _Damn it, brain_. He needs to focus.

”Severe concussion, a wound on his left arm that’s not too bad, and then there’s a cut on his thigh that’s like, two inches deep. Only millimeters away from hitting the femoral artery. If it did, he’d be dead by now.” 

A hand grabs his shin and he smiles at it, head rolling heavily to the side. 

”’m fine.”

Jody laughs a humorless laugh. If Dean had had the energy for it, he would have teased her about going soft on him. 

Now he-

**Dean? Can you hear me?**

He feels like crying and laughing all at the same time because, fuck, because that’s _Cas_ speaking _inside his brain_ and for the thousandth time he just wishes that things were different. That his mother hadn’t been killed by a demon and that his brother hadn’t had demon blood in him and that his father hadn’t raised him to be a good little hunter that just follows orders. He wishes that he had a normal apple-pie life and that Cas had come to his car repair shop with a broken taillight and asked him to fix it. That the only thing standing in their way would be John’s homophobia (and honestly, Mary would probably kick his ass about it). That Sam had gone and married Jess and she would never stop teasing Dean about who he was texting all the time until he finally introduced the two of them.

And _Cas…_

Cas would be clueless and know nothing about rock music or movies, and he would be the smartest person Dean knew because he’d be a fucking history professor or something, and he would be completely badass and go running every morning, and Dean would _know_ these things because he would be there with breakfast ready when he got back. 

But it’s just a dream. Okay, Winchester. Shut the fuck up. That morphine they pumped into him must’ve hit harder than he’d thought. 

He forces away every happy thought and focuses on another source of happiness - one blue-eyed angel. 

_Cas?_

**Dean, I don’t have much time. Gabriel is lending me his grace to contact you.**

_So he’s alive? Motherfuck-_

**The demon banished him and Naomi to the void. She has not yet returned. Listen to me - you must wait for them to come back to earth. Don’t try to find the demon. Don’t** -

_Don’t be stupid?_

Dean takes the silence as a yes. 

**And Dean-**

_What?_

**I wish all those things too**.

The connection fades away and if Dean wasn’t about to cry before, he certainly is now.

Goddamn morphine.


	6. Chapter 6

Apparently the Winchester’s list of stupid ideas has hit a new low. And this time around it’s a certain younger Winchester that has come up with the stupidest fucking idea ever and Dean would very much like to strangle him. 

Too bad he’s still stuck in a hospital bed. 

On the plus side, it’s past midnight and Sam is still here, so at least he’s not alone. 

The latin is familiar but Dean doesn’t care, he just wants this over with. Thankfully, before Sam has even said more than a sentence there is a slight change in the air, like someone turned on a fan and at once it’s a little more chilly, and suddenly the King of Hell is standing in front of them.

Dean would very much like to strangle him, too, but what the hell. The guy is basically half human now, right? So maybe he has a soft spot for them.

”Exactly _what_ is so important that it couldn’t _wait till tomorrow_? I need my _beauty sleep_ , moose.” 

Okay, maybe not.

”First of all, you don’t sleep. And second of all, this is urgent.”

”Kinda,” Dean adds, and Sam shrugs. He stifles a chuckle and thinks back on the good ol’ days, back when they were trying to find the demon who’d killed mom, thinking it was the peak of their careers. And now they’re calling the King of Hell in the middle of the night to ask a favor. John is probably rolling in his grave right about now.

”Urgent how?” Crowley spits, his already limited patience wearing thin. Sam gives Dean a look that asks which one of them should do the talking, but seeing as Dean is high on morphine and in all the stages of grief simultaneously, he should probably stay quiet.

”Does the name Safire ring a bell?” Sam asks, and the irritated groan that escapes Crowley might be the most human thing Dean has ever heard.

” _Of course_ , stupid, stupid, stupid. How _the hell_ did I not realize? Who else would be _stupid_ enough to _-_ Winchesters. Always, _always_ , the _bloody_ Winchesters.”

Sam snorts a laugh. Dean tries to breathe past the lump in his throat that appeared out of nowhere and fakes a smile. 

”So, yeah. We might have annoyed her a tiny bit,” Sam admits, which makes a vein pop on Crowley’s forehead and if it weren’t for his own current state, Dean would be a tiny bit worried about his health. 

” _A tiny bit?_ A- a tiny- you have _no idea_ what you are dealing with. I should let her _eat you_ , you fools.”

Sam snorts and Dean knows that it’s because right now Crowley sounds more like a scolding parent telling his kids off for poking at a snake with a stick than anything else. 

”Crowley? Focus. Can you help us or not?” Dean interrupts, taking long slow breaths to counteract the effects of his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. 

”Help you? _Help you_?” 

Crowley sighs heavily and actually sits down. There just happened to be a chair forming out of thin air underneath him at the exact right moment. 

”Do you know who she is? What she does?”

Sam replies. ”We know she eats souls, if that’s what you-” 

”Eats souls, that’s one way of putting it.” He laughs coldly. ”She harvests their powers and becomes stronger and stronger with every soul she picks up. Even if I still had Hell under my thumb, I wouldn’t be able to beat her.” 

Sam interrupts. ”Wait, what? Did you lose hell?” 

Crowley gives him a stare that defines the expression ’if looks could kill’ and does a little pouty face. ”When _someone_ decided to _cure my demon -_ me, um, my _soul_ , the rest of hell didn’t just sit around _waiting_ for me to _get back_. I’ve got enough on my plate.”

”Come on, Crowley. Just help us out. Where can we find her?” 

Crowley raises one eyebrow and sighs tiredly. ”I can try summoning the bitch. But the second she turns up, I’m out. I don’t want _anything_ to do with her.” 

Sam gives Dean The Look, and Dean nods. 

”Deal,” he says. 

”My God am I going to regret this,” Crowley mutters to himself. He gives Dean a once-over, sighs heavily and turns his body towards Sam instead. ”Sorry, squirrel. But you’re gonna have to sit this one out.”

And before Dean can form a coherent thought, they have disappeared.

 

∞

 

Sam is still not entirely sure how Jodie ended up in the same corn field as him, but he is grateful for the backup. Even though it includes making her turn around and walk in the other direction when she spots Crowley (whom, Sam remembers, tricked her into a date and then tried to kill her the last time they met). 

Anyways, Crowley stays true to his word. He drops them off, disappears for no more than two to three minutes at a time, returning with various objects each time and Sam realizes that he is going to actually _summon_ the demon.

”Hey-” he tries, but Crowley is already gone (after leaving a vial of blood - virgin’s blood, Sam figures). The next time he appears, Sam is quick to speak. ”Crowley! Wait up!” 

Crowley spins on his heel and looks at him, annoyed. ”What?” he bites off hoarsely.

”Can’t you just call her? She is a demon, after all.”

”Oh, is that so? Well I’ll just go get a human and slice their throat then. How about you, Jody? Do you volunteer?”

Sam can feel his cheeks flush at Crowley’s sarcasm once he realizes what he’s playing at. 

Right.

Sacrifice a human life and all that.

”Sorry,” he mutters (and since when is Crowley the responsible one that doesn’t want to take any unnecessary lives?) but the demon is already gone. 

Jody pats him on the shoulder. ”S’okay, Sam. I don’t take it personally.” He chuckles softly and feels the tension leave his body. 

Yeah, Jody Mills is definitely good backup. 

Of course he would have preferred Dean, but Dean is nowhere near fighting shape right now and Sam kind of wonders if that’s why Crowley brought Jody out here with him. Whatever the case, he is glad that Dean gets a break. Because honestly-

Honestly he is terrified of what is going on with his brother. The lack of sleep, substantial food and the way he freezes up regularly are three very clear signs that something awful is going inside Dean’s head, and Sam wishes that he could help. That he knew _how_ to help. 

”Come on, Sam. Crowley’s just about ready. I think,” Jody says, and together they get into place next to Crowley. He doesn’t acknowledge their presence, eyes closed and tossing the various ingredients at the ground by his feet (Sam spots catnip, dried lily of the valley, amber and something that can only be human hair).

There is a moment of extraordinary silence, which Crowley breaks with, ”This is what I said I’d do. I’m out. Please try not to die, moose, or your brother will haunt me for the rest of his puny life.” With one latin word there is a puff of purple smoke and when Sam looks to his right, Crowley is gone.

”Did I finally manage to get your big brunt of a brother?” the demon says as a greeting, and Sam wants to punch her. _Demons_ , man. 

”Dean is _fine_ ,” he spits back. Jody is looking only slightly awestruck, however it is hidden behind a stern face that challenges anyone watching to confront her. Even Sam is a little taken aback by the force of her gaze.

”And what’s wrong with your girlfriend here? Cat got your tongue, sweethea-”

”You are so dead. Touch these boys again and I’m gonna _eat you_.” 

It is always amusing to see a demon pent up on hundreds of souls being frightened by a human, so Sam makes sure to enjoy the brief moment. Unfortunately it ends way to soon, with how the demon takes two quick steps towards Jody before Sam slides in between them, Demon knife in hand, and they get into close combat. Since all they’ve ever managed to do this far is being thrown into various walls, Sam makes the most of this opportunity. He cuts her wherever he can, slicing deep and it’s strangely satisfying to hear her gasps of pain. Maybe the Demon knife isn’t lethal, but it sure as hell hurts to have your cheek split in two, demon or not. 

She is sloppy, and Sam wonders why just as he is driving the knife straight through her chest. With a few unsteady steps she stumbles backwards, looking down on the knife as if she can’t quite believe it herself. And Sam wants it to be over, he is _desperate_ for this whole thing to end, but he is too much of a realist to allow himself to think that this is it. 

A snarl rips itself from the demon’s throat and she explodes with a bright light. To avoid getting hit, Sam basically tackles Jody to the ground and covers as much of her body with his own as he can, feeling the sting of the power burn against his back and he yells through it. 

_How the hell are they supposed to kill her?_

Another force enters the room, and suddenly the pain stops. Sam raises his head tentatively and is stunned to see thick red smoke battling the white, pushing it back and away and Sam doesn’t want to stick around for an explanation - he pulls Jody to her feet and scrambles outside as fast as he can.

”I thought that knife was supposed to kill demons!” Jody exclaims, coughing heavily and wiping hair away from her forehead. There’s some blood sticking to her skin but she looks fine, so there’s really no point in worrying too much about her.

”She’s too powerful.”

There is defeat in Sam’s voice that he doesn’t want to hear - and apparently, neither does Jody. She smacks the side of his head and drills her eyes into his.

”Then we find something that’ll work. She thinks she can just step up and mess with whoever she wants to? Not on my watch, uh-uh.” 

Jody’s determination is so brilliant that Sam can’t help but burst out with a laugh. He tries not to think too much about the red smoke that saved them (Crowley, for sure) and leads the way to a more busy street where they can hopefully find a cab that’ll drive them back to Dean.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is no one reading this? What's going on? Did AO3 betray me?  
> I'm not usually one to beg for comments, but humor me - what do you think?

The next time Dean wakes up, he feels fine. His head is clear and his joints don’t hurt anymore, and the cut on is leg is no longer pulsating with pain. He sits up with a start and _fuck_ , he’s not in the hospital anymore. 

”Okay, who the _hell_ has been-”

”It’s okay, Dean. Gabriel is back,” Sam interrupts, at his side in one, quick motion. Dean eyes him suspiciously before giving the room a survey, noting that they are, in fact, alone. ”He went off to search for Naomi, said somethin’ about Cas pestering him to come down and heal you. Said he’d be back as soon as he finds her.” 

Dean nods and leans back in the bed. Good _god_ , maybe his body is healed up again but his _head-_

Apparently Gabriel couldn’t reach him there. 

He breathes through clenched teeth and when that doesn’t work, he closes his eyes and does everything in his power not to crawl into a little ball and weep because he’s a fucking princess with no lid on his emotions and _someone’s going to get hurt, son, or worse, killed. Shut up and push it down, you’re a hunter. Not some teenage girl with hurt feelings_.

And then there’s Alastair, hitting him and _kissing_ him and beating away at his soul until he is nothing more than skin and bones, and-

And _fuck_ , Cas is dead. Cas was stabbed in the chest and his eyes had been on Dean when it happened, and _he wanted those things too_ , he wanted a normal life without monsters and demons and angels-

And Dean is quite certain that he is falling apart. 

Sam is there too, but he is very real compared to everything else in Dean’s mind. _He’s alive_ , Dean reminds himself. At least he didn’t fuck that up.

Thinking of Sam grounds him slightly, and he meets his brother’s gaze. Sam just responds by flaring his nostrils and pressing his lips into a thin line, eyes hard and annoyed.

”Dean, have you been listening to a single word I’ve said?”

Dean just shrugs like he is the most careless person in the world, even though it hurts to see his brother’s disappointment.

”You know what? I’ve had enough. I’m not doing this anymore,” Sam says through gritted teeth, actually getting to his feet. Dean at least has the sense of mind to pull himself up to lean against the headboard as Sam starts ranting. 

”You have _got_ to start talking to me, Dean. You’re acting like Cas was your private property, but you’re forgetting that he was my friend too. He was my family, too, and I lost a brother. I’m not going to lose one more.”

”You just don’t get it, Sammy.”

”Get what? That you get to sulk more and be mad at me whenever you’re sad? That you have some goddamn right to drink and fight and-”

Dean takes a deep breath. _I can’t believe I’m doing this,_ he thinks and then he just says it. ”I’m in love with him!” 

There is a beat of silence before Sam exhales, ”What?”

”I’m in love with him,” Dean repeats with a sad smile, relieved to get it off his chest and terrified about what Sam is going to say.

”You-you’re…?”

”Yes,” he laughs, running his hands through his hair and ending up clamping them around his neck. ”God, I- I love him. I love the way he smiles when I’m talking about Baby or some stupid movie, I love the way he sort of squints his eyes and tilts his head when he doesn’t understand. I love his fucking blue eyes and that goddamn messy hair that I’m just _dying_ to touch, and we never- I never- I love him so fucking much, Sam, and it _hurts_ because he’s _dead_ and _gone_ and I have to get him back, because I can’t sleep and I can’t _think_ without being _sick_ because he is _dead_.”

Sam approaches him warily, and it is only then that Dean realizes that he didn’t take a single breath during his long confession. He gasps for breath, but somehow it is not enough and he keeps breathing like a goddamn marathon runner, heaving breaths that don’t do much to bring in more oxygen. 

Somewhere, far away, Sam is speaking, and he’s asking something, and Dean must have replied with a yes because suddenly he is wrapped up in a strong and warm and familiar embrace, and that does it - he starts crying. 

”It’s okay, Dean. We’ll get him back,” Sam soothes while Dean sobs into his shirt. It takes a while, but eventually he quiets down. And even though he would never admit to it, he feels so much better - he still hurts, and his brain is still a jumble of chaotic memories and watching Cas get stabbed over and over again, but one thing has changed. He doesn’t have to hide it from his brother anymore.

With a grunt he pulls away and angrily wipes away the tears from underneath his eyes.

”Let’s never tell anyone about this ever. That was the Mother of all chick-flick moments.”

And Sam, bless him, Sam just laughs. 

 

Gabriel joins them hours later, now once again with Naomi by his side. Dean may have had doubts earlier on, but now it’s crystal clear - Gabe is the one in charge. Naomi looks neat and perfect as always, but there is a slight change in the way she looks at the archangel, fleeting, short looks and always followed by her casting her head down towards the ground. 

Maybe she messed up, Dean doesn’t know. And it’s not like he really cares, either - they have a demon to kill. 

”So, how’re we doing this? Summoning her clearly doesn’t do the trick. Any ideas?” Dean says into the quiet room, wondering why Gabe hasn’t spoken up yet. 

”Is there any way you could track her down?” Sam asks softly, and at that Gabe does look up. He sort of disappears for a minute, eyes unblinking and glazed over, before he shakes his head to return to himself and gives a short nod.

”There is a hotel, not far from here. The top floor is heavily warded against angels. That’s got to be it.” 

”Great!” Sam exclaims, at the same time as Dean sighs, ”Damn it.” 

They both give each other annoyed looks and turn to the angels instead. 

”So, how do we get in?” 

Gabriel rolls his eyes and sighs theatrically. ”You two break in, destroy the warding and try not to die before we get there.”

”Sounds like a plan!” Dean says unhappily. Gabe doesn’t even spare so much as a glance in his direction. 

”Where is your friend, the female hunter?” he asks Sam, who twists his fingers together uncomfortably.

”She- uh- she went home. Well- I sent her home. It’s too dangerous.” 

”Pity. We could have just another set of hands,” Gabriel says, Naomi still uncharacteristically quiet.

Dean is just glad that Jody got out of this. Knocking down a demon is one thing, going after an all-powerful soul-eating-demon is another. Hell, they’ll all be lucky to get out of this alive. 

Then Dean thinks of something that makes him frown and grit his teeth, but it’s the best idea he’s got.

”What about Crowley?”

 

∞

 

Castiel watches it all through what feels like a telescope. He can easily follow Gabriel’s mind, his line of sight and tune into his hearing (once Gabriel had allowed it, of course - otherwise he would have been burnt out of his vessel long ago). The five of them - including Crowley, which still amazes Castiel - are in the Impala, and it is quite an amusing sight. Dean is driving (of course) with Sam sitting next to him up front, and in the back are the two angels and the King of Hell. Castiel wishes that he could have been there. 

He feels Gabriel’s annoyance at his presence, and pulls back slightly. Seeing through his vessel’s eyes is enough, for now. 

The car stops and they all spill out in front of a large white building that he understands is a hotel. There is some prepping to be done, they scout the place and Naomi gets inside to book a room for them so they can ride in the elevator (this annoys Gabriel further because he thinks that they should just fly up to the top floor, however any use of their powers could alert the demon of their presence). 

Suddenly Dean is only inches away from Gabriel and Castiel hurries to tune in to hear his voice.

”Tell me something, man.” He sounds relaxed, like he has finally slept after all these days. Castiel is glad to hear it.

”What?” Gabriel shoots back.

”How are you back? I mean, don’t get me wrong - I’m glad for the backup. But you were dead. Both of you. I watched you die.” 

There is a short moment of silence during which Castiel sees what Gabriel is about to say, and it amazes him.

”God brought us back.” 

The words are simple, yet so unbelievably important and Castiel can hardly believe it - after all this time, after his long search that gave no result whatsoever - and God just brings them back to life? Dean raises an eyebrow and seems to calculate his next words carefully.

”Why?” 

Gabriel snorts a little and Castiel can tell that he is about to give some witty comeback, and then Naomi speaks up.

”He brought us back to do _good_. To _help_. To be the angels he had intended us to be - strong, fearless and in the service of mankind.”

”Bullshit,” Dean says, and Castiel hears faintly how Sam hits him. ”I don’t believe it.”

”Believe it when you see it, Winchester,” Gabriel says solemnly. Castiel has never had more respect for him than right in this moment. 

Then, of course, Crowley comes along and ruins the mood and Dean laughs the tension away.

”Excuse me for interrupting, but mind if we _get going_? There’s a _demon_ up there waiting to cut our heads off.” 

”Right,” Sam says. Castiel misses him dearly. 

”Remember - the three of us go up and get in, break the warding. Then you two get your feathery asses up there and we finish this. Together,” Dean explains quickly, and to Castiel’s surprise, no one comes up with a snarky response. They are ready. 

Dean, Sam and Crowley disappear from Castiel’s (and Gabriel’s) line of sight, and now all they can really do is wait. Gabriel seems to be listening intently, picking up bits and pieces of their conversation.

” _It’s the top floor- no,_ top _floor you idiot.”_

_”Don’t do anything stupid.”_

_”I can’t believe I agreed to do this. I have more important things to do! Like, rule Hell, for instance.”_

_”Crowley, you lost hell.”_

_”Well, I need to get it back!”_

Dean laughs and it’s a beautiful sound. 

The elevator pings as it reaches its destination, and the three of them are out in an instant. There are some yells and indistinguishable words, and then Sam is yelling at the top of his lungs: WE DID IT. COME ON.

Gabriel and Naomi are there in less than a second. Castiel recoils a little at the sight in front of Gabriel, because Sam is already bloody and Crowley is no more than a puff of smoke in the air, swirling around Safire and distracting her. They strike together, and this time it’s coordinated. This time, Dean gets her in a headlock, Sam starts up with the exorcism while Gabriel and Naomi extort their powers to capture her before she flees back to hell. 

There is a moment when they all think that this is it - the Demon is not much more than a writhing mess in Dean’s arms, but then suddenly it is as if she realizes that she has a perfectly good hostage behind her. Before anyone can do anything to help, she has thrown up a fist to crack Dean’s nose and is holding him up in the air by his throat. 

They all stop fighting simultaneously and Castiel wants to shout at them.

_KILL HER_.

_DEAN IS IN DANGER_.

_HELP HIM._

They all stare, motionlessly as Dean is slowly choking to death, and Castiel panics. He panics and Dean is in danger and there is only one thing he can do.

He pulls away from Gabriel and focuses all that he has towards Dean, not knowing quite what he is asking for until Dean says yes and suddenly he leaves Jimmy Novak’s vessel behind him. 

Opening Dean’s eyes is a strange experience. Feeling every inch of his body and seeing it from his perspective is confusing. Holding Dean’s soul safely in his wings is mesmerizing.

The demon frowns and there’s really nothing else she can do before Castiel lays Dean’s hand on her forehead and kills her with angelic grace. 

As the dust settles around them Castiel is thrown into an unexpected hug from Sam, who holds Dean tight and grabs the back of his jacket with strong fingers. 

”Shit, that was close,” Sam sighs, and only when he pulls away to look at Dean’s face does he recoil.

Gabriel, Naomi and Crowley stand smugly behind Sam with smiles on their faces - they already know.

”Sam-” Castiel says, and the name sounds nothing like when Dean says it. Surely, Sam will hear it too.

Castiel is surprised by a fist to his chin and watches as Gabriel comes up to hold a hand on Sam’s chest, effectively stopping him from doing any more damage.

”Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my brother?” Sam spits, and Gabriel laughs in his ear.

”It’s Castiel,” he grins, obviously amused at the entire situation. Sam’s face goes from angry to confused to worried until there finally is a grin splitting his face in two.

”Damn it, Cas,” he sighs, and then he is pulling Castiel into an entirely different hug. 

”I am sorry, Sam. I didn’t know what else to do. Your brother was choking and I had to-”

”Cas, it’s okay. Seriously. Dean said yes, right? So he’s in on this shit too. _Wow_ , this is actually kind of surreal. And awesome. Hold on, I’ve got to get a picture of you and show him - you look nothing like Dean, really-” 

Sam continues rambling and Castiel humors him for a few minutes, but he doesn’t have the heart to do it for too long.

”Sam, I have to leave. I can’t possess Dean any longer, I- I can’t.” 

There is a beat of silence as Sam processes what this means, and Castiel gets ready to expel himself.

”Tell him that I’m sorry.” He pauses, adds, ”For everything.” 

”No, no, no, no, Cas. Stop!” 

Sam’s eyes are huge and sad and Castiel can’t look at him. He can’t look down at Dean’s hands and watch his fingers move when it isn’t Dean that is moving them. 

This has already been going on for far too long.

Castiel slips away without another word, lingering at the front of Dean’s brain as his body catches up with him again, and he pushes the thoughts inside.

_Let me be, Dean. Let me go_. 

He hears a distant sound, almost like a scream, but he is already too far away to respond to it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, I'm in love with this fic (if I'm allowed to say that about something that I wrote) and I had a blast writing it. Hope you liked it too xx

Sam has never seen Dean like this. 

And that is saying something. 

It’s fucking _scary_ , because usually when Dean mourns he stays silent for days on end and then ends up piss-drunk and destroys something. That’s usually enough for him to bottle it up and keep it down until the next disaster strikes.

Now, though, he is completely lethargic. It’s almost like back when Castiel first died, only about ten times _worse_. 

They made it back to the bunker in a few days, Sam driving the entire way. Dean didn’t say a word, so naturally Sam just figured that he was waiting for a drink.

Back home, Dean grabbed the first bottle of whatever that he could find and emptied it in record time. It was enough to send him to sleep, it was not enough to keep the nightmares away. And the next morning, well-

The next morning, Sam couldn’t get him out of bed. And not the next one, either.

And now it’s been five days and Sam is force-feeding him some soup, and Dean is staring off into the distance. 

Sam tries to tempt him with hunts, he provokes him and even slaps his cheek a few times, but Dean is equally indifferent to anything he does. 

It has to stop.

Sam has to find a way to get his brother back.

He tries praying, he reaches for Gabriel and Castiel and even Naomi, but no one answers. 

 

∞

 

Castiel wouldn’t say that he is _sulking_ , exactly, but he doesn’t really know what to call it. He has shut everything off, he has blocked Dean’s voice out of his head and any prayer is lost to him. 

He was inside Dean, he _possessed_ him, and Dean will never forgive him for it. 

After he left Dean’s body, he floated around in the void until something snapped and he was pulled back into his heaven (for a split second he thought that he was in the bunker, in the _real_ bunker, but then he felt the familiar buzz of grace and realizes that he was in fact in heaven). 

Seconds, days, minutes pass, Castiel doesn’t keep track of time, and then Gabriel is there.

”Congrats on getting your soul back, cousin. How’s it feel? I mean, you have gained some weight since you got here, so-”

”I got my soul back?” Castiel asks, doubt thick in his voice. He can feel- something, thumping behind his sternum, but whether that is an illusion of a heartbeat or his soul, he can’t tell.

”It’s right here,” Gabriel smiles, holding his hand in front of Castiel’s chest in an unusually affectionate gesture. ”And it’s something, I’m telling you that. Sort of makes me wanna go mortal just so I could see what it’s like.” 

”No one’s stopping you,” Castiel mutters, and he doesn’t know why, but Gabriel laughs.

”Fuck, I’m actually going to miss this,” Gabriel sighs. Castiel raises an eyebrow at him, urging him to explain himself. ”Seeing you. I have my work cut out for me, and I won’t have a lot of spare time. Certainly not enough to go to some abandoned bunker in the middle of nowhere to hang with my cous’ and his boyfriend.” 

Castiel’s cheeks flush red and he wonders why he, an _angel_ , can’t hide a blush.

”He is not my-”

There is no point in even trying to finish that sentence. Gabriel rolls his eyes. ”Whatever you wanna call it, I don’t care. Just go back and sort it out.” 

Castiel doesn’t understand.

”Why _are_ you still here, Cassie? You’ve had your soul for days. There’s really nothing stopping you from-”

Gabriel keeps talking, and Castiel is still confused. Go back? To earth? But he’s dead. He was killed. God put him in heaven and this is where he is supposed to be. Alone, for the rest of his days, leading a peaceful afterlife. He can’t go back.

Gabriel is _still_ talking, and Castiel interrupts him without preamble.

”I belong here,” he says quietly.

Gabriel chuckles, shakes his head and Castiel wonders if they are friends. Or if they could be, one day.

”Cas, you’re my family and I love you, but sometimes you are so full of shit. You don’t belong here.”

Castiel can feel his eyes widen and he both fears and longs for what comes next. 

”You belong with him,” Gabriel says, nudging his head towards the end of the corridor. 

There is no need to ask who Gabriel is implying. The corridor leads to a door, one that Castiel knows isn’t supposed to be there, and he wonders fleetingly what it leads to but Gabriel is gone and there is no one to ask. 

The door is taunting him, pulling him in closer and closer, and the last thing that he thinks before he opens it is that nothing can possibly be worse than being stuck in heaven alone for all eternity. 

 

∞

 

Dean feels it more than he hears it. There is a tug at his _bond_ or whatever the fuck it is that he shares with Castiel, just as a loud crash echoes through the halls of the bunker. 

Sam runs without waiting for him, which is understandable. Dean hasn’t said a single word in nine days. 

But he can feel him now, closer than ever, and he knows what he is going to see before he sees it but it still punches all the air out of his lungs.

_Cas._

_Castiel._

_You fool. You stupid, stupid angel._

_God, but I’ve missed you_.

Castiel looks short next to Sam, and his hair is a little more rugged than Dean remembers, and his eyes a little more blue, and his small smile melts away every wall inside Dean and suddenly they crash into each other in a desperate hug.

”Don’t _ever_ do something like that again, you hear me?” Dean mumbles into his shoulder, and Cas just hugs him tighter.

He wants to-

He wants _everything_. He wants to kiss Cas stupid and lie next to him in bed, and wake up with him by his side every morning, and he wants to share the rest of his miserable life with Cas because for some reason, he just makes everything better. 

And he wants to say all these things, but Cas just got back (like, literally ten seconds ago). And Sam is standing next to them with a wide grin.

And Dean doesn’t say anything.

 

∞

 

Earth feels _familiar_. The bunker feels like _home_.

Castiel loves it. 

Dean makes him a cup of coffee every morning and even though he doesn’t necessarily need it, he has grown to like the taste. They don’t look for any hunts the first couple of days. Castiel is grateful. Instead, they watch movies and when the weather is nice he and Sam go on hikes in the nearby mountains (Dean stubbornly refuses to come along). 

Everything is as peaceful as it can possibly be - besides the inside of Dean’s mind.

Castiel _tries_ to stay out of it, but Dean is _loud_. He seems to be at war with himself, constantly overthinking everything and Castiel knows what is bothering him but he doesn’t know what Dean wants to do about it.

Humans are still a mystery to Castiel. If only Dean would speak and explain himself, maybe Castiel could help him find some peace of mind.

Even if that means that all those things inside his head aren’t true.

 

∞

 

Sam snaps two weeks after Cas got back. Dean is fucking terrified, because what if he says it and Cas doesn’t feel the same way and he leaves? Just when they got him back? Or what if he stays and there will be this awkward titanic-sized elephant in the room that they can’t get around.

So Dean hasn’t said anything, and Cas hasn’t asked, and they tiptoe around each other every day.

At least until Dean is getting ready for bed and there is a knock on the door.

”What?” he mutters, and the door opens.

Sam smiles and asks, ”You doin’ okay?”

”Sammy, it’s eleven pm. I’m going to bed.” 

”Right,” Sam says shortly, and clears his throat. Dean has the time to think _this can’t be good_ before Sam speaks again.

It’s not good.

”Listen, I’ve been giving you two time to adjust to each other, and let Cas get used to being back, but I can’t take it anymore. You have to tell him.”

”Tell him what?” Dean grunts, feigning ignorance.

Sam fucking bares his teeth in anger and raises his voice to a shout. ”He’s right there, Dean! He’s right in front of you and if you won’t realize that, you’re a goddamn idiot. I lost Jess, and I lost Amelia, and maybe I’ll be alone for the rest of my life, but I won’t let it happen to you. Not when he is _right there_.” 

The words about Jess and Amelia hit Dean hard, but he swallows past the lump in his throat. Admitting that Sam has lost _everything_ is impossible because it just hurts too much. 

Now, Dean has lost people he cared about too - Cassie, Lisa, Ben - but this is different and he knows that. 

”I can’t do this now,” Dean whispers, and it’s a tired, broken thing.

”The hell you can,” Sam bites back. He pushes, _he fucking pushes_ Dean out of his room and shuts the door once they are both in the corridor. ”You go tell him _right now_ , or you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”

”Or I just go to your bed.”

” _Dean_.” 

Shit, Sam can be scary when he needs to. Dean throws his arms up in the air in defeat and slowly treads towards Cas’s bedroom, heart in his throat. 

He thinks about what he is going to say. _Cas, can we talk? I’m in love with you. I have been in love with you since the first time I saw you. Please tell me that you love me too_. 

Fuck that, this isn’t some goddamn movie. Just man up, Winchester, and kiss the guy. It won’t be the first time you kiss a man, remember? And he’s not even a guy, he’s an angel…that happens to be wearing a guy, but whatever.

Cas’s door appears too quickly. Dean can’t breathe. 

He knocks on the door without thinking it through. It takes a few moments for Cas to open the door, but when he does, he looks breathless and more beautiful than ever and Dean aches for him.

”Cas, I-”

Cas kisses him hard. He’s all hands and heavy breaths, and Dean kisses him back. 

”I love you,” he says against his lips, needing to say it before he takes the cowards way out and lets Cas do all the work. A laugh is smothered in the next kiss and Dean keeps thinking that hey, this wasn’t so damn hard after all. 


End file.
